


Case 54931: Atypical Results Stemming from Jutsu-induced Pregnancy

by skaralding



Series: Five times Sasuke got knocked up by Itachi, and one time he didn't [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Body Modification, Dubious Consent, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderswap, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Impregnation, Incest, Intersex, M/M, No Uchiha Massacre, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Oiroke no Jutsu | Sexy no Jutsu, Pregnancy, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2020-10-05 05:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20483291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaralding/pseuds/skaralding
Summary: Sasuke knows what he wants from his brother is wrong. He goes for it anyway, taking every care to make sure no one ever discovers the real face of the shy civilian woman Itachi keeps taking to hotels.Naturally, it all blows up in his face.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KiaraNxiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiaraNxiar/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Unconventional instructor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19967131) by [skaralding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skaralding/pseuds/skaralding). 

> Soooo this is what would have happened if things in the _Unconventional_ verse zigged instead of zagged, and Sasuke had been the one in charge of seducing his brother, and had also incidentally been unaware of Itachi's preference for men. I'm going to try to keep things understandable even if you haven't read anything from that series, so let me know if there's anything confusing so I can fix it. Please enjoy ;D ;D ;D

It was a terrible idea. Sasuke knew just what he was doing, knew the exact series of words to describe what he was planning to do tonight. Rape. Incest. Illegal application of jutsu. Insubordination. Technically, it even counted as bloodline theft—something Neji had gone into way too much detail with him over drinks one miserable night, right before they went back to Neji’s tiny, painfully neat apartment to use each other to satisfy their forbidden desires.

Neji was a big part of why Sasuke had any confidence that this would even work. Neji had been the first one to to call him out years ago, to walk right up and tell him in a low, even tone that he didn’t walk at all like a woman, and was doing a piss-poor job of passing as one.

Neji had bought clothes for him. Had practised the Oiroke and other similar high-detail henges alongside him, _for_ him. Neji made a decent enough taciturn Uchiha male, made a good enough leering older cousin that Sasuke could close his eyes and pretend. And by now, after years of furtive tests, Sasuke could be nearly any one of his female peers, and could probably pass as a female Hyuuga in a pinch.

Mimicking the look of the Byakugan was easy. Mimicking the way activation looked was really fucking hard. But nothing like that was on the menu tonight, because Neji had finally landed that long-term diplomatic posting to Suna that he’d always wanted, and the last reason Sasuke had to put off what he’d always wanted was gone.

_“Good luck,”_ Neji had murmured, yesterday evening, while they were still tangled together, just after they’d got done pretending. _“Don’t panic.”_

Easier said than done. Despite all the research and the hard-won knowledge Sasuke was leaning on to make this work, his first tottering step into the Steel Kunai had him biting his full lower lip, had him breathing a little too quickly.

_It’s fine,_ he assured himself. _A little fear, for Sachiko, is completely fine._ It was her first time in this bar, after all. Heads turned towards her, then just as quickly turned back, since the least modest thing she was wearing was the pair of spiky red heels on her feet. Everything else was painfully, some would say embarrassingly reserved.

Her pale grey, high-necked silk blouse _was_ unbuttoned, but only enough to show off the top of her collarbones. The hem of her black skirt ended two inches above her knees, but it was more swishy than form-fitting, and she was wearing black tights that were only a little sheer, only a little revealing of her slightly short, pale legs. Her makeup was conservative. Her black hair was in a long, sleek ponytail that screamed her just having come from work, and her not knowing that letting it down would probably make her look far more inviting.

When she got to the bar—a slow, hesitant trip, her shoulders stiff, her body shrinking in a little on itself every time she found herself blocked off by an unobservant or uncaring ninja—she ordered a rum and coke, and tipped well, accepting the short, squat glass as if she wasn’t sure quite what to do with it. So far, the only people that had given her a second look were older men and women, the kind that didn’t mind a bit of a challenge.

Finding a seat at the bar was a challenge, one Sachiko persisted in because the idea of turning and heading into the sea of crammed, noisy tables that made up the rest of the room was terrifying. It was bad enough that they were, that it _felt_ like everyone there was watching her. Judging her.

But this wasn’t the hardest thing she’d ever done. Maybe, in a minute, when she’d done more than taste a tiny bit of her drink and huddle in the only free space next to the bar that wasn’t occupied by drunken kunoichi or shinobi, she would drag together enough courage to turn around and plunge into that sea.

“First time here?”

Somehow, he was—_she_ was not expecting her first come-on to be Itachi. That she froze because Sasuke was panicking deep within helped the act, making her thin mouth a little ‘o’ of absolute shock. “U-uchiha-san,” Sachiko said. “I’m—am I not—have I done something wrong?”

Itachi was taller than her, because he was always taller than the women he and his cool, collected wife pretended he wasn’t fucking on the side. Sachiko’s petite, almost bony frame was one of the safer choices for Sasuke to make, and yet, right now, he couldn’t help but feel like a stupid mouse shrinking before a cat, a tiger, a _lion_ and oh fuck, had he forgot to screen his chakra signature?

The way Itachi’s gaze skimmed over him in a slow, leisurely up-and-down trip was the only thing that assuaged his fears. “Relax,” Itachi said, shifting minutely, something about the way he leaned next to the bar making Sasuke—Sachiko, he couldn’t forget—feel a little more at ease. “I’m not on duty.”

It was in Sachiko’s character to blink at Itachi then, to stare at him before nodding warily. It was also exactly what Sasuke wanted to do, and yet somehow not enough. _How doesn’t he recognize me?_ Sasuke kept thinking, stupidly, as if he didn’t know how well he was disguised. As he watched his brother go through the motions of ordering a drink for himself and a refill for…? “Sachiko. Yanagi Sachiko.”

Itachi’s dark eyes crinkled at the corners, and though he didn’t smile, it felt as if he was a breath away from doing so. “Sachiko-san,” he said, warmly. “Would you like another of what you currently have, or something else?”

Anyone looking at Itachi wouldn’t be able to say for sure that he wasn’t just being polite. He was hardly crowding her, wasn’t even smiling at her, and while she bit her lip to think over her response, Itachi returned his gaze to the bartender, signing his order with a quick, practised twitch of the fingers on his right hand.

But when Sachiko coughed, Itachi’s attention came right back to her, as if it had never really left. “I, I think I’d like something else,” she murmured. “Something different.”

Itachi smiled then, a brief upward slant of his mouth, and though his gaze drifted down to the squat, nearly-full glass she was clutching to her chest, it didn’t linger there. “Sit with me,” he said. “Take your time and finish that, and we can choose something interesting for your next.”

* * *

Hours later, she was drunk enough that her coordination suffered from it, and she really had to lean on Itachi’s solid, comforting arm for support as he guided her out of the bar. “Let me walk you home,” he said, and Sachiko shivered, blushing, because she knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that he leant in that close to say it. Surely he wanted his warm breath hitting her ear. Surely he wanted her to feel his body warm and hard and lean and so very close to hers that she couldn’t think. “Please?”

“I-I—home is, home’s a bit…”

“Oh?” There was a current of dark amusement in his tone. “Hotel?”

Sachiko shrank in on herself, embarrassed to death, but when Itachi started towing her along, she followed.

* * *

He didn’t even bother to undress her all the way. Once they were in the room, Itachi simply turned her around and pushed her up against the door and shoved up her swishy skirt, his fingers digging in at the high waistband of her tights, dragging them down roughly. Then he pulled her back toward him with one arm around her waist, forcing her to bend forward, and then he was shoving his fingers deep inside her, three of them at once, fucking her so hard that she squeaked.

His other hand was apparently busy with his trousers, because he gave up on fingering her after a handful of strokes, pulling his slippery fingers out, nudging his huge, thick cock against the softness of her slightly parted upper thighs. “You want this, right?”

“Y-yes.” She couldn’t believe this was really going to happen. “Please.” She knew her voice was shaking, but she didn’t know if he’d read that the way she hoped he would, as shyness mixed with want, rather than the blank, needy desperation it really was. “_Please_.”

He choked her as he thrust in. It was so sudden, so utterly not what Sasuke had expected that she couldn’t help but flinch. Having a cunt felt so weird at times like this, so sinfully good. What would have hurt a lot in his ass just burned a little, stretched him a little even as it made him wet, accepting, eager.

“You feel really good,” Itachi said, leaning close, trapping her against the door, his slow, rhythmic thrusts a complete contrast to the tight grip he had on her throat. “Sachiko-san, I—hngh. I can go faster, right?”

He wasn’t asking her, he was already doing it, already fucking deep into her hard and fast. Sasuke whimpered. The arm she was bracing herself against the door with trembled. She was going to be so sore tomorrow.

“Do you like it?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice, constrained by the grip on her throat, was almost a whisper. “But it’s—I—you’re hurting me.”

“You said you wanted to try something different,” was the low, amused, slightly breathless answer. “Isn’t it good like this?”

By then, his other hand was in her hair, the grip tight enough that she had to arch her back to try and relieve the way he was pulling her back into each heavy thrust. It hurt. It hurt so well that she had already come, that she was even tighter around him now, that his every thrust was followed by a pleasured grunt she felt in the pit of her belly.

“So tight,” Itachi muttered. “So fucking tight. I can come inside, right?”

“N-no—”

“I know you can take it,” Itachi said, his voice unsteady, his tone dark and mocking. “It’s not your first time, is it, Sachiko-san?” And with that, he let go of her throat, slinging his arm tight around her waist instead, forcing her back onto his cock. “Take in my come.”

“No! Don’t—ugh!” This wasn’t how Sasuke had planned for it to happen. He had a pill in his purse, one that looked like the emergency contraceptive he’d bought for comparison. It was coloured sugar in a carefully sealed packet, and he’d been supposed to take it with water while Itachi stood over him and watched, so there would be nothing to suspect, but like this—like this— “_No_…”

Sasuke felt the heavy twitch of Itachi’s cock inside him, felt the slight, telltale warmth that had been spilled into him, and couldn’t help but burst into tears. He couldn’t help the way he began to shiver, either, when he felt Itachi’s hands dive between his legs, searching out his clit, stimulating him.

“Don’t be so worried,” Itachi murmured. “Sluts like you don’t get pregnant just from this.” And then he was driving slowly in and out of Sasuke’s aching cunt again, his cock still frighteningly hard. “You can just take that pill afterwards, right?”

Afterwards, Sasuke struggled up to his—her feet from the panting, shivering lump she’d made on the floor when Itachi had finally tired of her. Teary-eyed, she stumbled over to where her bag had fallen, and took out the fake pill in its packet, half wishing she was sensible enough to take a real one.

There wasn’t any point in acting right now. Itachi was already in the shower, blithely washing off the signs of what he’d done; there was no way he’d be able to get the benefit of watching her swallow down what looked like a birth control pill without bothering with water.

_I got what I wanted,_ Sasuke thought. _I don’t ever have to do this again._ But he lingered anyway, still dishevelled, his arms clutched tight around his belly, until Itachi came out from the bathroom fully dressed, his damp dark hair and slightly flushed skin the only sign that he’d been in there at all. “You didn’t have to do that,” she found herself saying. “I, I wanted it, so you didn’t—you shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Itachi’s gaze was already on the open, empty pill packet she’d left on the bedside table. “You came prepared, didn’t you?”

Sachiko flinched, lowering her head. This was so wrong. Wasn’t he nice? Wasn’t he supposed to be nice?

“Hey.” She flinched again, feeling Itachi’s hand come down on the back of her neck, his fingers stroking lightly over the slight, but unmistakeable bruising he’d left behind. “If you know what’s good for you, start taking the long-term version. That emergency stuff isn’t healthy to take in the long run.”

“I’m not,” Sachiko stammered, “I don’t, I don’t _need_—”

“You’re a slut, Sachiko-san,” Itachi said, firmly. “Sluts need to be more careful with these things, okay?” His hand squeezed her neck, lightly, then lifted away. “I paid for the night, so feel free. Till next time.”

And then he was sliding smoothly out of the window, as if the fact that he’d very nearly raped a woman, and most definitely come in her when she didn’t want it didn’t mean much to him. Sasuke curled in on himself, still shivering, and it was a long time before he could uncurl and let instinct take over, let his hands go down to the hot, wet place niisan had filled with come.

The orgasm he gave himself while thinking of that was the best one he’d had that night.

* * *

Naturally, Sachiko-san didn’t stop going to the Steel Kunai. She stuck to sitting at the bar, flinching at approaches from the few ninja that had any interest in her wide-eyed, timorous front.

She felt a dark burst of satisfaction the night Itachi finally chose to swoop in on her again. She’d seen him around, too, and had avoided him even more than she did for that one old geezer that kept taking the chance to put a heavy hand on her thigh whenever they ended up seated next to each other.

But tonight, Itachi was clearly out of patience, so instead of watching her from afar, he directly came up and lavished her with attention. Soon enough, he had claimed the seat next to her and was leaning in a little to make inane conversation, all while smiling knowingly at her.

A fight broke out behind them, and he used the sudden rise in volume of the customers to lean very close and say that he wanted to fill her tight pussy up again.

“I don’t want—I’m not here for that, Uchiha-san.”

“Of course not,” he said, and when the fight started getting serious, he put his arm around her waist and dragged her out of the way of the two screeching chunin and the bemused girl they had been fighting over. But he didn’t stop there; he dragged her out the back door, and then down two or three different alleys, and by the time Sachiko even thought to try and scream, he had a hand over her mouth and another one down her skirt, and he was forcing her to a shuddering, desperate climax despite all her struggles.

“Shh,” Itachi said, his breath hot against the side of her neck. “You don’t want to be seen like this, right?”

He still had his hand over her mouth. There was no way she would be able to get away from him, no way anyone that had seen him walk her out the last time would think she was being raped if they saw her with him now. Sasuke just didn’t understand what any of Itachi’s other women could possibly see in him, if this was how—if he was _always_ like this.

“I haven’t seen you leave with anyone else,” Itachi said, as he worked his fingers in and out of her. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Nnrrh…”

“You’re so wet,” Itachi said, his tone low and gloating. Satisfied. “I knew you wanted me.”

He pressed Sachiko up against a wall and shoved aside the dampened gusset of her panties. He didn’t give her even the slightest chance to resist. “I’ll come in you again, okay?”

“No…” She didn’t need him to—she’d checked, already, and found it had worked, found that he’d made her pregnant. This was just another unwise indulgence, and she knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself. She rocked back against him, whining in the back of her throat, hating herself for each pleasurable shudder he forced out of her.

By the time it was over, Sasuke could barely stand. He trembled in Itachi’s arms, whimpering as his already sore, dripping cunt was fingered for the last time. He only half-heartedly tried to avoid the long, wet kiss Itachi gave him.

“Next time,” Itachi said, “I want to do you in my house.” Then, even as Sachiko tried to shake her head and turn him down, he added: “It’s there, or I’ll take you in the toilets in the Steel Kunai, where anyone that comes in will be able to see you. Is that what you want?”

“You’re cruel,” Sachiko said, wilting. “Why do you—why are you like this?”

“Are you going to come to my house?”

“I’ll…” _He can’t **make** me come,_ Sasuke told himself. _He doesn’t know who I really am; he wouldn’t be able to find me._ Agreeing just for now was all right. He wasn’t actually going to go. “When should I come?”

The small, satisfied smile on Itachi’s face felt completely wrong in this context. That was how niisan smiled when Sasuke had lived up to Itachi’s lofty expectations for once. Itachi had no business smiling at some strange, teary-eyed woman like that. “Kiss me again, and I’ll tell you.”

* * *

She went to his house. _Stupid,_ Sasuke thought, as she sidled in through the back door, her face pink with shame, but of course there was no point in saying it, no point when she was already being led upstairs by Itachi, her hand sweaty and small in his tight, calloused grip.

She could feel, from the moment he’d opened the door for her, that this time, she was really in for it. This time, with her having surrendered herself, having willingly walked into his territory, he wasn’t going to hold back.

So she was a little surprised when, instead of, of just _starting_, Itachi pulled her close and kissed her. He kept on kissing her, his mouth warm and wet, his hands stroking down her shivering back. He took the pins out of her high, sleek bun one by one. He pressed his face against the side of her neck, breathing deeply, even as his hands wandered down to the tense curve of her ass, squeezing and stroking.

“Why…?” Sachiko found herself asking, even though she knew it was useless to. Obviously he wanted something a little different this time; it wasn’t her place to ask what had changed. She wasn’t even supposed to be here. She was in his and Yuri’s bedroom—trespassing—so she’d expected, she’d prepared herself to be hurt. That Itachi was taking things slowly this time around didn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt her later. “I—I mean, it’s not, it’s not that I don’t like this, I just—”

“Ssh.” Now, he was moving them towards the bed, inch by inch, one hand on her ass even as the other caressed the side of her lowered, flaming face. He wasn’t even trying to get her to look up at him. “Isn’t this what you came for?”

“Y-yes, but…” _I’m scared of what I’ll have to pay for it,_ Sasuke thought. Considering the way Itachi had treated him—her before, this sort of loving, tender care was almost disquieting. _I’m scared,_ she kept thinking, as she was touched, kissed, fondled. _I’m so scared._

When he guided her to lie down on the bed, his hands were gentle, but firm. He peeled off her tights with slow, teasing motions, smiling as he did so. “You’re wet enough that I can smell you from here,” he said, even as he coaxed open her now bare, trembling thighs. “I can’t wait to see how you taste.”

_Ah,_ Sasuke thought, some several scattered moments later. _So this is how he wants it. This is how he wants me to die._ Having Itachi use his mouth on Sasuke’s aching pussy had almost stopped being a pleasure two orgasms in. His technique was merciless. He knew just when to stop before Sasuke came, just when to pull away and leave Sasuke’s hips thrusting against nothing. Itachi licked and laved and _sucked_ and bit down gently, and he refused to touch anywhere else.

“Fuck me,” Sasuke begged, over and over again. “Please. It’s so empty, I need it, fill me up quickly, _please_…”

Itachi, ignoring her, continued to drive his wicked tongue in and out of her cunt. It wasn’t until Sachiko had grown too weak to cry out that he finally pulled away, finally unbuttoned himself and entered her.

“Is it full now?” His breath was warm against the side of her neck, and he stank of her. It was so viscerally dirty, feeling him deep inside, smelling him, that she whined and shook and came, tightening painfully around him. “Tell me.” Itachi’s voice was hoarse now, angry in a way that only made it better. “Tell me, you little slut.”

Sachiko could barely breathe from the force of his thrusts. She didn’t tell him anything. The only sound she made was a low, needy groan when she started to feel him twitching inside her, clearly about to come.

“Take it,” Itachi snarled, and so she did, writhing as he pounded deep into her, spilling everything, his violent movements masking the moment of his orgasm.

When he finally pulled out of her, she was sore enough that she couldn’t help but feel surprised to look down and find that she wasn’t bleeding. _I bet that’s the real reason why he got me wet enough at the start,_ she thought, wryly. _Man, niisan’s really…_

_No, no, no, no, can’t think of him like that._ It was Uchiha-san, Itachi or nothing.

Speaking of Itachi… he was currently staring down at her limp body in his bed for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Sachiko felt horribly awkward lying there, but she didn’t know what else to do. Sitting up would only mean feeling come start to seep out of her, and she didn’t want to stain the slightly damp, sticky sheets any more than they already had. _Someone’s going to have to wash these,_ she thought, then had to bite her lip to keep back a hysterical, completely out-of-character giggle, because the woman Sasuke was playing was the sort that would seriously worry about it, and it was just too surreal for words that Sasuke had actually—

“Get out.” Itachi’s low, flat tone as he said those two words were more than enough incentive to get Sasuke moving, rolling stiffly to the edge of the bed and levering herself back onto her shaky legs. The key to walking like this was to take it slow, but never stop moving. That there was come trickling down the inside of her thighs was just another obstacle, another annoying imposition to her rapid, embarrassed hunt for her clothes.

Itachi didn’t say anything else as he watched her dress. He wiped himself clean with a cloth he’d conjured out of nowhere, and re-buttoned himself with habitual ease. By the time Sachiko had staggered downstairs and slunk out the back door, she’d only managed to make herself a little more presentable, and she felt the contrast between her shaky, dishevelled appearance and his own unruffled one even more.

_Okay,_ she thought, as she hobbled towards the hotel she was currently pretending was her home, _now **that** is definitely the last time._ If only because she wasn’t sure Itachi would invite her in again, or seek her out at all, after whatever that had been.

Sasuke, curled up in a ball in Sachiko’s temporary bed, refused to think about just what it was that he’d, that _she’d_ done wrong. He’d known how this thing was going to end even before he’d started it. He didn’t deserve to feel bad about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke only went back to the Steel Kunai as Sachiko two more times, after that. Then, when she felt Itachi's gaze pass over her as if she weren't there for the second time, she reluctantly decided that that was that, that the farce was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, you thought Sasuke getting himself knocked up was the end of it? NOPE. No porn in this chapter, just a bunch of angsty interpersonal drama seasoned with plot.
> 
> Tags have been updated to better reflect story content. Please remember this is marked CNTW for a reason.
> 
> **Edit on 03.27.20:** small continuity fix.

Sasuke only went back to the Steel Kunai as Sachiko two more times, after that. Then, when she felt Itachi’s gaze pass over her as if she weren’t there for the second time, she reluctantly decided that that was that, that the farce was over.

She went back to her hotel, dejected. Three days later found her checking out, then walking out of Konoha’s eastern gate without a single look back. Talking herself into Yasuo-kun’s room in Noheji two days later gave her the usual jolt of mean satisfaction when she became (mostly) Sasuke again and made Yasuo-kun cut himself while shaving, but it didn’t really make her happy.

(It was often ‘her’, you see, when she kept her cunt. Erika-sensei disapproved of using your genitals as a shortcut to remind yourself what role you were playing, but Sasuke had never quite been able to get rid of the habit.)

(She’d kept her cunt up till now because it didn’t feel right to make it go away yet, not after what she’d done to niisan.)

“So?” Yasuo-kun said, his gaze still fixed on himself in the bathroom mirror, and on the cut he was very slowly healing. “What’s the assessment this time?”

“Adequate,” Sasuke said, already taking out the paper and ink needed for her report. “Sensors tagged me on my first day, and the gate guards handled my diplomatic endorsement the way they should have. Boring as hell, how well it all worked.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing, grading them all as ‘adequate’?” Yasuo, who had come into Internal Security the accepted way, by doing a year in the KPMF and then two years as a checkpoint guard, was always very sensitive to anything that put his former peers under Internal’s evil eye. “Will it kill you not to be such a fucking—”

“I went to the Steel Kunai every other night for a month and a half,” Sasuke said, coldly. “Not one of the five guards and officers frequenting the place reported it, and they should have.” That she had gone to the Steel Kunai on her off nights as Sachiko, a person that was much less likely to be suspected of anything, was nothing she needed to report and nothing the KPMF needed to be accountable for, but the fact that her trips to the bar as her official identity had made no waves was a problem. She’d formed and flaunted a clear suspicious pattern right under their noses, only to be ignored. “Be glad I’m not marking them as ‘needs improvement’.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” was the grumbling answer. “Jeez, anyone hearing you’d think you were tortured all month instead of on a fucking paid vacation.” Which was what most Internal Security ninja thought the periodic In-Village Security Evaluation Missions were. The fact that they were prohibited from living as their real identities during that time was only a small hindrance for most, and an actual plus for some. “All done with your report?”

“Mm. Just needs a stamp.” Sasuke channelled chakra to her fingers, ignoring the sting of the blood seal as it activated on her thumb. The seal took a moment to form the imprint of her ID number and personal stamp in the too-small box on the form, and then she was blowing on the blood with a little bit of wind chakra, because otherwise it would smudge when Yasuo shoved it into his file folder, and she hated that. “Here.”

“Took your sweet time,” Yasuo said, even as he skimmed the report, checking that she’d filled in all the parts that needed it. “Good day to you, Uchiha-san.”

“Same to you, Yasuo-kun.” Sasuke, as always, took spiteful pleasure in the way her deliberate decision to use his first name made his expression twist. There was a reason the man had remained what was, for all intents and purposes, a mere courier, rather than graduating to an active asset. Yasuo-kun, though really good at faking faces and making up personas, wasn’t all that good at actually maintaining his composure while disguised. “See you in two months?”

“Do the world a favour and kill yourself by then,” was the nearly even answer, promoted by Sasuke having switched to the seductive version of herself mid-word. “Pervert.”

Yasuo-kun still flushed when Sasuke paused to reach up and pat him on the cheek. He hadn’t been the best lay the one time Sasuke pinned him down, but his embarrassment had very nearly made up for it. Smiling, Sasuke backed towards the door and let herself out, not deigning to give Yasuo-kun’s insult a response.

* * *

A month later, Sasuke applied for leave, citing health reasons. That she’d been a little slower than normal recently in her training spars had not been entirely faked; being pregnant took enough out of her just on its own that she really would have needed the break if she’d got knocked up for normal reasons, and wasn’t spending extra chakra and effort on hiding it.

As it was, considering what she was planning to do as soon as she was safely in her small, cluttered apartment… she really, really, really needed that whole week of leave. To be safe, she probably needed an extra week, but Sasuke knew that being safe and taking things slow would be the last thing on her mind once she’d terminated her pregnancy. Hopefully, there’d be a nice, violent infiltrator elimination mission up for grabs right about the time the week was over.

Unfortunately, when Sasuke received and opened the Mission Desk’s response, she—no, he now, he—found that he had been awarded a full three weeks of mandatory leave.

Five years ago, his response would have been to start cursing furiously under his breath. Three years ago, the curses would have scrolled through his mind, and gone entirely unvoiced. Now…

_Ah,_ Sasuke thought. _Figures._ After all, he very rarely took leave, true leave, that was, rather than the In-Village Assessment that only sort of counted as leave. Probably there was someone in Ninja Support Services on the warpath about mandatory downtime and frequency of voluntary applications for leave, and the fallout had splashed onto Sasuke’s file because his superiors knew he wasn’t the type to have an episode when forced to return to the village for a longer time than he’d planned.

Sighing, Sasuke burned the letter, then turned around and began to pack.

* * *

He didn’t even try the termination until he’d been back in the village for a week. No one had noticed anything they shouldn’t—a point of pride—but he’d had enough of that pride covered in the first three days he’d been home. People looked at him and saw that he looked tired because he was slouching uncharacteristically, or because he wasn’t complaining (much) about being forced on leave, and as much as that delighted him, he knew he couldn’t keep using it as an excuse to keep the charade going.

Admitting that he didn’t want to stop didn’t help at all. It just made it harder to let go, harder to shelve his half-formed plans and useless excitement at the thought of seeing how long he could hide a pregnancy, one of the human body’s most obvious and radical transformations, all while working cheek by jowl with the selection of ninja most likely to notice what was happening to him.

In the end, Sasuke lowered himself to a slightly ungainly squatting position on the floor of his bathroom only because he knew the transformation wasn’t all that would be the result of his choice. He’d stopped doing his daily meditation half because of the other result, half because he didn’t want the guilt that would come from feeling, from _sensing_ the new life within him, the life he’d helped create solely out of selfish pleasure.

_Sorry, A-kun,_ Sasuke thought, as he let go of his standard misdirection jutsu. The sight of his small, tender breasts and slightly rounded stomach was as humbling as ever. _It’s not your fault your parents are terrible._

* * *

Bleeding from a cunt that wasn’t even your original hardware _sucked_. Sasuke, squatting over the bowl she’d—he’d prepared, tried not to think about the gross, visceral sensations or the dull ache he felt in his lower belly.

_It’s over now,_ he told himself. _It’ll take some time, but eventually I’ll be fine._

Afterwards, he disposed of the clotted blood, rinsed off in the shower, and took a long, hot bath. He, alright, _she_, she felt as if she should be mourning or crying or affected, somehow, and it was surprisingly unnerving to feel just a little tired and sore and ill. As if she were recovering from a cold and, and was maybe halfway through an especially rough period, rather than coping with the aftermath of an abortion.

_Can’t forget to buy Sakura a gift,_ Sasuke told herself. The fact that Sakura had ‘encouraged’ (forced) him to learn what felt like too much detail about the genitals he’d grown fascinated with experimenting with had never stopped paying dividends. _What was that light novel series she was into again?_

* * *

Two days later—not really enough time to come to terms with what had happened, per the trauma handbook—Sasuke tried to change fully into himself for the first time in two and a half months. She did it naked, sitting on her bathroom floor, because somehow that made the change feel safer when she was stressed.

It didn’t work.

Or, or it worked, but not in the way she’d been expecting. Instead of coming out of her careful meditation state with the cock and balls and the lean, muscled frame she was all too familiar with, Sasuke woke shivering and sprawled on cold tile, feeling nauseous and bloated and top-heavy in a way that only made sense when he felt down his front and encountered breasts.

Bigger breasts than his usual. And—his cunt was still there, but there was also—he also had his cock. Smaller than usual, but it was still his cock, his cunt and his balls, all together.

_How the fuck does this even happen?_

“Pregnant for two months,” Sasuke whispered. Possibly his chakra system remembered, and was holding onto that memory, preventing him from returning to the body he usually used as his base transformation.

_Try again?_ Sasuke thought, his hands clenching and unclenching. It took far too long for him to admit that he didn’t want to, that he was cold and exhausted and deeply upset that his body had betrayed him, but when he _did_ admit it, the question of what to do next was simple. Get up. Shower. Get accustomed to walking without letting the complication (and wasn’t it a _great_ sign that he had such a clinical name for it?) affect things. Go to the kitchen and reheat some rice and stir-fried beef to eat.

Sleep.

* * *

The next day, rather than try the _Oiroke_ again, Sasuke dressed as himself in loose-fitting clothing, slapped on a few different genjutsu, and went downstairs to Sakura’s floor to knock on her door. He was lucky; it only took fifteen minutes of repetitive knocking to summon forth his bleary-eyed, scowling former teammate.

“Want to see how I’ve fucked myself up this time?” he asked, not at all jokingly, and was glad to be waved in with only a brief glare and a grunt. “Can we do this in your study?”

“It’s that big of a fuck-up?” Sakura said, snidely, but she altered her sluggish path, swinging back around the couch and heading toward the small second bedroom she used as a place to store notes and do experiments. “Privacy seals?”

“Yes. All of them.”

Sakura’s eyebrows went up, but she shuffled over to the first one, the large, slightly crooked pattern to the right of the open doorway. Ten minutes later, as Sasuke stooped down to activate the final seal that had just shimmered into view on the threshold, he found himself feeling dizzy in a way that was horribly familiar.

Two minutes after that, he’d been shorn of all his genjutsu, and seated in the only chair in the room, a worn-out thing that swivelled around on squeaky wheels. “Haven’t you already been on leave for a week?” Sakura said, frowning down at him. “Just what the hell have they had you doing in Internal, that you’re like this even after taking a rest?”

“It’s not what you think,” Sasuke murmured. “This… I’m pretty sure this is all me. My fault.”

Sighing, Sakura crouched down a bit in front of him, gesturing imperiously. He put his left hand in hers, and though he did his best to relax, he couldn’t help but tense when he felt the first probe of medical chakra brushing against his. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out, detaching as best as he could, trying not to pay attention to the increasing tension and excitement he could feel from Sakura.

“This,” Sakura finally said. “Did you—did someone—”

“I wanted to get pregnant,” Sasuke said, hastily, because her grip was hurting him. “I did it on purpose.” ‘This time’, as always, was left unsaid. He’d never told her how glad he’d been of her advice on that mission two years ago, the first one that had made it all so horribly necessary. “The termination went fine, but when I tried to, to switch back to my baseline yesterday, things didn’t go so well.”

“Termination?” Sakura’s tone was tight. Strange. “Sasuke, the… you’re…”

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Sasuke said, careful to sound calm and firm and not at all flat. He knew that this particular topic sometimes brought that out in him, and the last thing he wanted was for Sakura to feel he was trying to push her away. “I chose it.”

He was looking earnestly at Sakura just then, so he saw, in detail, the way her mouth and her forehead scrunched and twisted and worked, before she dropped his hand and said: “That’s not what—Sasuke. You’re still pregnant.”

“I know you don’t think I… what?”

“You’re still—there’s still—I think? You’re, all of you is, your body still thinks you’re pregnant, and—”

“The termination was three days ago,” Sasuke snapped. “Obviously I’m still recovering, and that might have—don’t I just need some time?”

“Uh—”

“Aren’t you supposed to know? I can’t be—and anyway, isn’t it, didn’t you say that method was pretty much a hundred percent guarantee of…?”

“Up to about a month after conception, yes,” Sakura shot back at him. “How far along were you?”

Alright, now Sasuke wanted to push her away, wanted to punch her through her own shitty apartment bedroom wall, wanted to do anything other than answer the pertinent, shameful question she was asking him. Typically, he settled for staring over at her extremely untidy desk. “Two months.”

“Huh.”

“_What?_”

“No, I mean… even that late, it should still have worked. You passed some tissue, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then… I don’t know.” Then, when Sasuke glared up at her: “This situation is far more complicated than you seem to think it is, okay? Pregnancy and the kind of fine, extensive chakra manipulation on the scale you engage in do _not_ mix well. Being pregnant can mean anything from temporary chakra hypersensitivity to spontaneous chakra blocks that prevent normal usage. When I say I don’t know what happened, _I don’t fucking know_, okay, because it’s not my fucking speciality!”

“…Sorry?”

“Hmph.” Then, a moment later: “You’re right that you might just still be adjusting. The state your body is in right now…” Sakura sighed. “You’ve still got a week or two of leave, right?”

“Please don’t tell me I have to ask for an extension,” Sasuke said. “I’ll go insane here, and you know it.”

“Come back every evening for a check-up,” Sakura said, which was categorically not the non-extension-seeking promise he’d been hoping for, but was probably as much as he was going to get. “And for gods’ sake, don’t try anything weird with your body until I tell you it’s safe. If you need to fuck, fuck with your current arrangement, okay?”

“I don’t ‘need’ anything like that,” Sasuke retorted, even as he levered himself up and out of her chair. “It’s a hobby, not some kind of—”

“You and I know very well that I don’t care what it is, you moron. Get out so I can go to sleep.”

* * *

It felt really quite unfair that, after having such a deeply unwelcome situation dropped on top of him, Sasuke couldn’t just stagger back upstairs to his apartment and collapse in peace, rising from his bed only to guzzle beer and eat fried rice from the restaurant down the street. Had it been a dinner appointment with friends—alright, with Naruto and Sakura and possibly Ino—he could have had Sakura make his excuses, or could have got away with going and saying maybe two or three words the entire evening.

However, the dinner he was so carefully dressing up for now was not at all the kind of dinner he could be careless at. It was already a huge concession that he was only required to come to the weekly family dinner once during his in-village breaks; performing poorly would only mean the kind of scrutiny Sasuke simply couldn’t afford at such a delicate time.

Mother had not been pleased to see him ‘wasted’ on Internal Security, a.k.a. the division that, like the ANBU, toiled in the shadows, but received next to no respect. People didn’t like to think about where the classified details in Intelligence’s briefs on the village’s ninja came from, and they liked it even less when said details meant them being forced to take leave or ordered to address issues they had been ignoring.

According to Mother, Sasuke could have chosen nearly any other path. And, looking at things from her point of view, that was certainly true. It was just that, when you considered Sasuke’s deep-seated need to be away from Konoha as much as possible, there really weren’t a lot of good options.

He was no diplomat. Hunting and tracking bored him to tears, even though his heritage didn’t make it anywhere near as easy as some Uchiha liked to boast it did. And the vast majority of the Tracking division’s missions didn’t take them all that far out of Fire Country, and required near-constant travel that Sasuke disliked.

Infiltration was a hard no mostly because Mother simply wouldn’t allow it. Internal Security, which functioned a lot like Infiltration did, just strictly within the boundaries of Fire Country, had been barely acceptable, and only then because Sasuke had been halfway through their intake process by the time Mother figured out that he’d applied.

Even now, he remembered just how angry she’d been. Moments after she’d stalked out of the room, her rage palpable despite her graceful, precise movements, Itachi had come in and put a comforting hand on Sasuke’s shoulder.

And then, like always, Itachi had tried the soft angle, the other side to Mother’s harsh, demanding front. _“Try to look at it from her point of view,”_ he’d said, his tone low and coaxing. _“We’re already this distant with each other, even with all of us on duty in the village. Isn’t it sensible to be afraid that it’ll only get worse, if you insist on signing on with Internal?”_

Sasuke, drowning in the feeling of the weight and warmth of Itachi’s hand on him, had thinned his mouth and said nothing, all while thinking bitterly that here was the prime reason for his deliberate escape. It’d already been hard enough watching niisan get married, watching him smile at That Woman and hug her close to warm her up in the winter wind even though she was perfectly capable of using chakra like any other ninja. Watching all that, and being expected to stop being distant, to draw closer to someone he knew he couldn’t have?

_“I need a change, niisan,”_ was all Sasuke had said, and the small sliver of emotion he’d allowed into his voice had been enough to make Itachi frown, and reluctantly acquiesce to convincing Mother to let him go.

The worst thing was, years beyond that fevered departure, that driving urge to _leave_, Sasuke had found, over time, that Yuri—That Woman, he’d used to call her, internally—was a pleasant person to be around. Family dinners had gotten a lot easier after she married in. With her there, their usual stilted atmosphere was enlivened by casual, light-hearted conversation, mildly irreverent gossip and easily answered questions filling in the pointed, sullen gaps Mother tended to leave. Sasuke, who could only manage to brazen his way through small talk while pretending to be someone else, was just a little bit in awe of how Yuri always had something to say.

Tonight, things didn’t go any differently. “Oh, you’ve put on weight,” was the second thing Yuri said to Sasuke, managing to make it sound like a good thing just due to the pleased way she said it. “Eaten anything interesting recently?”

_Your husband’s cock,_ Sasuke couldn’t help but think, guiltily, though it wasn’t really correct. Two months ago didn’t count as recent, and it also wasn’t as if he’d ‘eaten’ with his actual mouth. “Just the usual,” he said, shrugging. “Old favourites, you know, stuff I can’t get while I’m on mission.”

“Oh, speaking of that, where were you just before you came back in?”

“Ogawa,” Sasuke said. “The drought there right now, you know.” With his friends, adding on that second line of explanation amounted to mishandling covert information, but with his family—the clan head, the clan head’s wife, and the former clan head—Sasuke didn’t need to worry about that sort of thing. “They’re in for a tough year in that region.”

“Yuri, can you be a dear and help me carry some of this out?” Mother’s steely voice had a slight reediness to it these days, something Sasuke couldn’t help but feel worried about whenever he heard it. Annoyed as he was at her constant lecturing and meddling, the mere thought of her declining in strength made him feel deeply uncomfortable. “You too, Sasuke.”

“Coming, coming.”

That Itachi usually wasn’t present at the start of any of these dinners was neither here nor there. Sometimes, when Sasuke was feeling sick of his muddled feelings, it felt like a mercy when his brother only showed up when they were on their second bowls of rice. Sometimes, Sasuke felt like Yuri’s prattle and Mother’s near-silent brooding was just a long, drawn-out prelude to the moment Itachi came in, frowning about whatever clan matter or council issue it was that had made him late.

No matter how much niisan was frowning, he always had a smile for Sasuke, a small, brief thing that was all the more distancing for how heartfelt it obviously was. _Look at that,_ Sasuke always thought. _That’s how much you can’t afford to ruin this._

Tonight, though, when the slightly tired-looking Itachi smiled down at him and reached down for the usual brief pat on the shoulder, it was all Sasuke could do not to flinch. “You’ve still got a week off after this, right?” Itachi said. “You look like you need it.”

“Mm,” was all Sasuke said in response, though for once, it wasn’t because he was deliberately trying to be distant. This time, knowing everything that had happened, knowing what he’d begged and pleaded for the hand on his shoulder to do—or not do—to him, Sasuke simply couldn’t think of anything to say.

Yuri, as always, covered admirably for the awkward gap Sasuke’s wordless response had left. She was planning a trip with some old teammates, or old friends, Sasuke wasn’t quite sure which. There was a new hot springs resort just over a day’s run from Konoha, and she and her friends were going to do the honourable thing and bravely sacrifice their free time this weekend in order to thoroughly check it out.

“The village will be grateful for your service,” Mother said, sarcastically. Then, after Yuri gave her a slow, formal nod as a joke, she added: “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been to a decent resort.”

Yuri’s gaze shone. “It’d be no trouble to add on another room,” she said, coaxingly. “Megumi knows the owner’s son really well, that’s how we could get a reservation on such short notice. If you want to come—”

Mother waved her hand. “Your aunt would tear out my guts if she realized I’d gone without her,” she said. “And don’t give me that look, it won’t be some sort of unbearable hardship to wait till she gets back from the talks in Kumo.”

“That’s in… what is it, two and a half weeks?” Yuri hummed under her breath. “We’ll make sure they keep something open for you, then. Something properly lavish.”

“Hm,” Mother said, with a sharp, barely-there smile. “Just remember, _you’re_ the one who promised.”

After that, the rest of the dinner was all but guaranteed to go smoothly. Anything that made Mother smile tended to put them all into a good mood, and though there was still the occasional awkward silence—when, for example, Yuri was chewing, and Itachi was laying siege to the oversized slice of cheesecake that was his portion of dessert—everyone seemed relax enough to let it flow by normally.

Dessert ran out all too soon, half because Itachi, and half because Okino-san’s non-traditional desserts were just that good, but that wasn’t a problem. Even the fact that Jirou-kun, Okino-san’s nephew, and Itachi’s recently formally acknowledged clan heir, had failed to show for dinner yet again just gave Mother something to complain vehemently about without actually being serious. “You have to stop bringing up marriage talks to him,” Yuri said, semi-seriously. “He’s only eighteen, you know how terrified anyone that age is of the word.”

Sasuke, twenty-three, and all too aware of how said word had never even come up in his case, was hard-pressed to dredge up a smile that matched the one Yuri and Itachi were wearing. Ludicrous as it was of him to feel offended that even Mother had never bothered to pressure him about his marriage, he still felt it deeply enough that when it was time to clear away the dishes, he made a point of getting up to help Yuri.

“I’m still here for another week and a half,” he said, when Mother complained that he wouldn’t sit and drink with her and Itachi. “There’s no rush.”

Mother narrowed her eyes at him for that, but the next time he returned to the dining table, she was happily engaged in running down the attempted machinations of someone in the clan, someone whose name Sasuke had missed while packing away the leftovers. _Safe,_ Sasuke thought, and took his seat again, reassured that tonight’s ordeal was almost at an end. _Just another half hour to go._

In the end, it only took twenty more minutes for Mother to chase them all out of the house. As usual, she refused to give Yuri and Itachi any of the leftover side dishes. “I don’t know why I even bother buying a proper dessert when it’s you two that end up eating it all,” she muttered, as she watched them change into their sandals. “Shameless.” But she’d been saying that for years, and so all that happened was Yuri grinning embarrassedly and Itachi smiling as if none of it had anything to do with him. “Make sure to dress warmly tonight, Sasuke. It’s gotten cold so early this year, and that apartment of yours…”

“I know, Mother.” This was the only other part of these nights that he liked, even though it was sometimes a bit smothering. “I’ll try to make time for dinner next week.”

“‘Try’?” was her response. “Hmph.” But she squeezed his hands and pressed the only wrapped box of leftovers on him with an unyielding smile. “Good night.”

By now, Yuri and Itachi were long gone—both of them were much more casual about leaving Mother’s house, their goodbye greetings mixed in along with whatever topic was being discussed before their departure. Sasuke didn’t know whether he envied them or not, but he knew that even if he was in the village enough that being in his mother’s house became routine, he’d never be able to bring himself to be like them. “I’m off now.”

“Take care.” The words were ritual; the way she squeezed his left hand again before letting go was just as much a part of it, and just as comforting. “Bring senbei with you, if you do manage to come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, though I handwaved certain details, the shitty situation Sasuke is currently in is [totally possible IRL, albeit suuuuper rare](https://www.womenonweb.org/en/page/476/in-collection/6907/how-do-you-know-if-you-have-a-continuing-pregnancy). I was both surprised and charmed to know that I wouldn't be pulling his condition entirely out of my metaphorical ass XD. 
> 
> Chapter 3, which I'm going to be posting pretty soon after this, will feature a lot more interaction between Sasuke and Itachi, though only like a sliver of porn. Tons of emotion and tension coming soon to an archive near you ;D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days after The Dinner, it was Saturday, and Sasuke was fairly sure he was still pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised there is a super-evil (but hopefully strangely satisfying?) cliffhanger at the end. Don't jump in unless you can take it~~
> 
> **Edit on 03.27.20:** small fixes + edit of a pivotal paragraph.

Three days after The Dinner, it was Saturday, and Sasuke was fairly sure he was still pregnant. Sakura’s daily checks and increasingly worried expressions were starting to grate on him, half because they made him feel strangely cornered, and half because her advice so far had been to wait and see.

“This sort of thing is really rare,” she’d said, early that morning, having barged into his apartment through the back window, still in her scrubs from last night’s shift. “There’s only so many papers about complications like yours, and most of them only deal with women in their, their what-do-you-call-it…”

“Baseline form?”

“I really feel there should be a better word for it, but that’s—anyway, with it that rare, with nearly no literature to advise us, waiting for the patient’s status to stabilize before trying anything serious is basically the golden standard. I know you don’t like hearing it, but I think we need another day.”

“Hn.” The very worst thing was that Sasuke couldn’t argue with her; in the first daily checkup Sakura had given him, the metric ton of questions she’d asked about his symptoms over the last two months had made it clear that his finely honed chakra control and his disdain for using chakra to disguise himself when props and makeup would do were the only thing that had kept his chakra pathways from rebelling up till now. “I’m putting in for a leave extension in two days.”

“Good,” Sakura had said, immediately, crushing his very last hope. “Make it two more weeks, if they’ll let you. I know a specialist who’s due back in the village by the end of next week, he’s who I’d go to if it was me.” From the way she was talking, she didn’t expect what she’d originally hoped for would happen, i.e. that Sasuke’s chakra pathways would stabilize on their own and allow him a safe abortion and a return to his original form. “Hang in there, okay?”

“Hn.”

She’d hugged him after that. Then made him sit down on the couch again while she fussed around tidying up his already neat living room and poking in his fridge to make sure he wouldn’t starve before the next time she saw him. As if _he_ were the one prone to picking through piles of clothes for the least off-smelling socks (Naruto), or the one who had to stick to a hyper-strict grocery schedule or risk running out of everything other than rice (Sakura).

Hours later, Sasuke was midway through his typical stuck-at-home routine (training replaced with easy, careful stretching, beer and junk food replaced by just junk food) when someone knocked on his back window. “I’m here,” Sasuke said, not bothering to shift an inch from his slouched, half-sitting, half-lying position on the couch. “Naruto, I swear, if you brought ramen _again_—”

It wasn’t Naruto. The moment Sasuke heard his visitor slide the window open without a pause to mess with the tricky firing mechanism of the tripwire hooked up to the window latch, Sasuke knew they were clan, and probably close family. The lack of any kind of greeting as they walked through the kitchen ruled out both Izumi (the loud, cheerful type) and Shisui (the loud, annoying type), and of course Mother would never go through the window unless she was on mission. Yuri, like Mother, would have come through the door, though that was because it was an unspoken rule to do so with ninja you were close, but not _that_ close with.

_Why now?_ Sasuke raged internally, all too glad that he’d already been covered by the big, puffy green blanket Naruto had given him as a joke something like four years ago. _Why did he have to come **now**?_ “Niisan?”

“Do you want something to drink?” Typically, Itachi didn’t sound at all surprised to have been recognized. “You look like you haven’t moved from there for a while.”

“I’m fine,” Sasuke said. He wasn’t—his heart was racing, his formerly languid body tight with a tension he really, really didn’t want to feel right now, and worse, couldn’t mask with chakra, because superfluous chakra use was exactly what his body didn’t need if he didn’t want to continue to be pregnant going forward. The barely audible clinking Sasuke could hear from the kitchen signalled that Itachi was preparing something, a drink or snack for himself, and _that_ meant that Itachi would be staying for at least the next half hour.

Staying in Sasuke’s apartment. Sitting beside Sasuke on the soft, cosy couch, leaning in while listening too attentively to Sasuke’s deliberately stilted, uninteresting anecdotes from work, all while the TV droned on in the background the way it’d done the fifty or so times this sort of thing had happened.

(Sasuke always had the TV on when Itachi was around, just to give himself something extra to focus on, to use as a measure for the time.)

By the time Itachi emerged from his kitchen with an open beer and two plates of curry-covered rice, Sasuke had forced himself up into a sitting position, vacating the entire left side of the couch, the blanket swaddling him up to the neck even though it made him a little hot, because he desperately needed it as a shield. “Oh,” Itachi said, pausing in the kitchen doorway. “I forgot to ask if you were hungry. Should I…?”

“I’ll eat,” Sasuke said, feeling abjectly grateful both that he was being offered an excellent tool for distraction (‘let’s finish eating first’, ‘now that we’re done eating, shouldn’t you head home?’), and that said distraction consisted of chicken curry (pork would have made him feel sick). “I was planning to make something, anyway.”

“Hn.” Itachi handed over the plate with a bigger portion, eyed the half-empty glass of water Sasuke had moved to a nearby side table, then finally sat down on the right side of the couch. A spoon was offered to Sasuke via chakra string. The volume on the TV set was turned up a little by way of the same method. “Haven’t seen this yet, have you?”

“Not all of it, no.” It was painfully illustrative of the mood that Sasuke was currently in, that answering even that simple question made him anxious about what his answer revealed. The show that was currently on was a newish one, something he’d been conned into seriously watching a few episodes of with Naruto on his second night back in the village; there was nothing to worry about there. “What do you think?”

“Hmm…” As always, Itachi paused to finish his current mouthful before talking. “A little more atmospheric than I’d prefer.”

“How so?”

“Needs more of a central mystery.”

“Really? But I think—hgh, ahem, I think the question of what Hayato was doing with the tapes—”

“But it’s so obvious it wasn’t his doing,” Itachi cut in. “Considering his character, his history, his motivations, it really feels like it should be obvious to, ah, what was the inspector’s name again?”

“Junko,” Sasuke said, through numb lips. Suddenly, talking about _The Crimson Kanzashi_ didn’t feel like a good idea at all.

“Ah, right. I feel as if they spent a little too much on all those long overhead views of the valley, and not as much as they should have on fixing some irregularities in the plot.” Then, when he noticed Sasuke had gone still: “Do you not like the curry?”

“It’s fine.” Luckily, the episode had just reached a crucial moment, providing an excuse for his distraction. Once the moment passed, Sasuke forced himself to devour the rest of the food on his plate with artificial gusto, but didn’t forget to alternate between looking down at it and back up at the screen. In that state of hidden tension, it was a wonder that he managed to follow the plot of the episode all the way to its end. “Ah, that’s such a good finish. The music really clinches it.”

“Yes,” Itachi said. “It really does.” His gaze was like a layer of uncomfortable, unavoidable heat on the side of Sasuke’s face; it felt like it’d been fixed there for at least a whole minute. “Want me to get you a beer?”

“I’m fine,” Sasuke said. A beer for him, in the current situation, was a bit… And of course it’d mean another one for Itachi as well, and maybe another half-hour of awkward conversation. “The curry was good.”

“Yuri’s is better than mine, these days,” was the warm, slightly amused answer. Itachi’s gaze hadn’t moved away yet. “Are you feeling alright, otouto? You’re looking a little flushed.”

_Stop fucking looking at me, then._ “I had a beer or two before you got here,” Sasuke lied. There were a couple empty bottles near the recycling bin from two nights ago, courtesy of Naruto having dropped by to bestow his prized collection of tapes for the show they were currently watching. Hopefully that would be enough corroborating detail that niisan wouldn’t dig into it any further. “It’s probably just that.”

“I don’t know,” Itachi said. “You’re sweating a bit as well.” And then he shifted closer—_don’t, don’t, **don’t**,_—and reached out his hand, laying it on Sasuke’s forehead. “Hm.”

“Niisan, I’m _fine_.” He’d managed to keep his front covered by the blanket—a favourite because it compressed easily and didn’t slide around when he moved—but if this line of questioning continued, Itachi was going to suggest (order) that he cast off the blanket to keep from getting too warm, and that could not happen. “You know how red I get when I drink. Stop fussing.”

“Two bottles aren’t anywhere near enough to get you this flushed,” Itachi said, firmly. His hand lifted away from Sasuke’s forehead—_good, now go away_—only to come back down on top of Sasuke’s head, ruffling his hair. “Do you feel cold? Is that why you’re bundled up like this?”

“Niisan.”

“It could be the early onset of a fever.” That damned hand had moved to his neck, picking at the edge of the blanket. It was the worst time to be hard as a rock, and also—also— “Is it that embarrassing for me to worry about you? You’ve gotten redder.”

_You’d be red in the face too, if you’d just found out your shitty extra genitals were definitely working,_ Sasuke thought spitefully, only managing to keep a scowl off his face by dint of immense effort. Scowling at Itachi when that particular note of amusement was in his tone would only make him smile, and the last thing Sasuke needed right now was to have to not just hear that smile, but see it too.

“I’m going to get some water,” Sasuke said, shifting an inch away from his brother. “Want another beer?”

“What, you’re cold enough that you can’t even stand to leave that behind?” Now, Sasuke could not help scowling, and then savouring the way Itachi smirked. “You’re not naked under there, right?”

_That_ got an exaggerated eye-roll, followed by Sasuke pulling the hem of the blanket high enough that the bottoms of his sweatpants were obviously in view. “Do you want that beer or not?”

“Yes, please.”

Sasuke levered himself up onto his feet and headed for the kitchen without a backwards glance. He spent the walk to and from the fridge frantically trying to calm down, while also convincing himself that a concealing genjutsu would only draw Itachi’s notice even more. It didn’t help that he was sweating under the thrice-cursed blanket by now, and had doomed himself to at least another half-hour of his brother’s presence due to this beer he was fetching.

“Beer,” Sasuke said, setting it down beside Itachi’s empty plate on the coffee table. “Now can we watch the next episode in peace?”

“Of course, of course. I’ll start it.”

* * *

One more episode turned into two, then three. As the evening dragged on, Sasuke sweated less and less, fortified both by the lacklustre operation of his apartment building’s shitty furnace and by shameless usage of cold drinking water. Halfway into the fourth (technically fifth) episode, Sasuke realized that this had to be the longest time he and Itachi had spent together in years, even when you counted all the instances of illicit sex.

Depressing as that realization was, it didn’t dampen the way it felt to just unwind for a bit. To temporarily put away the urge to hide what he felt. Not that he wasn’t hiding it, still, but. Pretending to be normal at a slightly closer distance to Itachi wasn’t anywhere near as bad as he’d thought it would be.

“Okay, now _this_ better be the last one,” Sasuke muttered. “I can’t believe they cut off the confession again. Cliffhangers like that should be illegal.”

“I don’t know why you’re so worked up, otouto; like I said before, it’s obvious that—”

“Shut up!” Itachi was the absolute worst person to watch this kind of show with, because not only did he guess everything and get it mostly right, the way he told you about it took nearly all the fun out of it. And he _would_ tell you, too, even if it was perfectly obvious you were just asking the TV set a rhetorical question. “If you can’t keep quiet, go home!”

“Fine, fine, sorry.”

Halfway through an extended monologue in the sixth episode, Sasuke started getting drowsy.

“Time to pause?”

“Mn.” Sasuke sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s finish this one first.”

He jolted awake some indeterminable time later, only to find himself halfway in Itachi’s arms, being laid down onto his bed. “Wha—”

“Relax,” Itachi murmured. “I didn’t want to leave you on the couch. Do you want this, or just the blanket you have here?”

“Mhuh…” Something about that question made Sasuke feel uneasy, but he was too tired to think very deeply. Words were an effort as well, and it wasn’t like they were really necessary when all niisan had to do was unroll him and tuck him into bed. “G’night.”

Sleepy as Sasuke was, he still noticed it when Itachi just kept standing by his bedside, bent in over him. Staring.

Staring at his body.

Alarm woke Sasuke all the way back up, but somehow, he managed not to tense. _It’s dark in the room,_ he thought. _My t-shirt is pretty baggy, and my breasts aren’t all that big to begin with. There’s nothing to see. Worst case scenario, it’ll look like I’ve gained weight._ Scratch that, in the absolute worst case scenario, Sasuke could always say he was practising for work, that holding long-term female transformations was something you had to practice to keep in form. “Niisan?”

“Yes?”

Didn’t Itachi know how dangerous it was to sound like that, his voice so low and rough, so horribly suited to doing wicked things with someone in the dark? “Is something wrong?”

_Please say no. Please say no and leave._

“You look a little…”

_No._

“What?”

_Say nothing. **Leave**._

“Your chest.” Sasuke couldn’t see much out of his half-closed eyes, but he sense Itachi moving closer. Reaching. Even so, he still flinched when Itachi’s warm, hard hand came down squarely on his left breast, exploring the shape of it. “Is this why you covered up all evening?”

What the fuck kind of question was that? Wasn’t—shouldn’t the first question any man asked of his brother in this situation, be something along the lines of ‘are they real’? “Th-that,” Sasuke found himself saying. “It’s. It’s just that, for work—to keep up my condition—”

Itachi’s hand squeezed his breast gently, the touch light enough that it could almost be playful. “Nice size.”

Sasuke was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t yet been covered by the blanket, and that it’d be really fucking obvious if he got hard again while wearing these cursed sweatpants. But of course he had to respond, had to acknowledge the joke. “My targets think so too.”

“I’d ask if you were doing the full thing tonight, if it wasn’t so obvious that you aren’t,” was the low, amused answer, one that made Sasuke tense despite himself, despite knowing that he wasn’t _quite_ that hard yet. “Do you take that kind of mission often?”

“Niisan,” Sasuke made himself say. “You’re still, your hand is…”

“Oh. Sorry.”

It was better this way, better when Itachi wasn’t touching anything. This way, Sasuke was less likely to get obviously hard. “I don’t really think about missions that way anymore,” Sasuke said, quietly. “The switch is one of my specialities, so even when it’s not mandated, I’ll sometimes throw it in.”

“Really?”

There was something slightly off about Itachi’s tone, and he was deliberately looking at the bare patch of wall above Sasuke’s bed’s headboard. The smart thing to do was to let out an acknowledging ‘hm’, or any other sort of vague reply, allowing the conversation to naturally end. There was no reason to push, no reason to try to make this into the kind of fraught, upsetting talk Sasuke had been fearing ever since Itachi sat down beside him on the couch earlier on, and yet… “You don’t approve?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Even though Sasuke knew that those were likely honest words said with honest confusion, he couldn’t believe them. He didn’t deserve to, anyway, not when you considered the fact that the source, the _start_ of his so-called speciality, was almost entirely driven by the bone-deep knowledge that his brother fucked only women. The fact that, to ever have what he wanted, Sasuke would have to be female, to be completely unmistakeable from the real thing, irrevocably tainted the skill he had at transformation. “You sound like you don’t approve.”

“What? That’s not—”

“It isn’t?” Sasuke was just this contemptible, this weak; not only could he not accept Itachi’s original, rote answer, he had to try and use it as an excuse to stir things up, to somehow incite Itachi to say better, more comforting words. “Could have fooled me.”

Somehow, the very last thing Sasuke was expecting was for his brother to fall silent after that last, goading statement. As if—

“Fuck.” Sasuke knew he sounded ugly, but for once, he just didn’t care. “Niisan, can you just—”

“Can I explain?”

“Do I sound to you like I _want_ an explanation?” That Sasuke’s voice was no longer shaking was just testament to his years in Internal, his years of enduring all kinds of horrible conversations. “Go home.”

Itachi slowly straightened up from his sideways seat on the edge of Sasuke’s bed, but instead of leaving, he just went on standing there, so terribly still that Sasuke couldn’t bear to breathe. “So,” Itachi said, into that frightening silence, “you’ve known, right? All this time.”

“Known what?” Much as Sasuke didn’t want to hear Itachi pick his way around the central thesis that Sasuke’s willingness to gather intelligence as a woman—with all that implied—sprung from deep-seated, incurable perversion, Sasuke couldn’t keep back that low, vicious question. “That I’m a disappointment to everyone? That I should be doing more with my life? Why do you think I never spend more than an hour and a half in your fucking company?”

That Itachi was no longer so still, and was only wearing the slight, barely-there frown that could be anger, confusion or concern…

“Don’t put on that fucking expression,” Sasuke snarled. “Just—_go home_. Pretend you put me to bed and didn’t see anything, and stop trying to—why are you _sitting down_?”

“Trying something,” was the almost, no, definitely flippant answer. “Hold still.” And then Itachi was leaning in over him, one arm braced by the side of Sasuke’s head, his face suddenly far too close, and then his lips, his _mouth_… Itachi’s fingers held Sasuke’s chin perfectly still for the kiss he pressed against Sasuke’s flushed cheek. “Hmm?”

Sasuke felt too dazed to speak. His lips were dry. Itachi was _looking_ at him, and he didn’t know what Itachi was seeing. All he knew was that Itachi’s eyelids lowered, and that Itachi bent back in again, and this time, the kiss was on his mouth.

He couldn’t help but open up. Itachi tasted a little like the beers he’d been drinking, and his mouth was so warm, so wet… Sasuke couldn’t help but imagine that mouth elsewhere, teasing him, leaving slick, slightly sticky trails as proof of where it had touched. It was enough just to think of it, almost enough to die from.

When Itachi finally pulled back, his lips damp with Sasuke’s spit, it was nearly all Sasuke could do to keep from arching up to follow him. “You didn’t know,” Itachi said, sounding choked. “You really didn’t know, did you?”

“That…?” Sasuke felt like an idiot leaving it unsaid, but his mouth just wasn’t working. He kept trying to close it, and ending up licking his lips. He couldn’t believe he’d just—he’d just had Itachi’s tongue there, the way he’d tried not to dream about, tried not to remember from—

From—

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay, otouto,” Itachi said, his hand coming up to caress Sasuke’s face. “We can have this.”

_We can’t,_ Sasuke thought, wildly. That he’d forgot for even a moment, a _second_, that he was pregnant with Itachi’s child, that the reason he was pregnant was because— “We can’t.”

“Trust me. Just trust me.”

“You don’t… you shouldn’t. I’m not—”

“I’ve always wanted you. Always.”

Sasuke shuddered. He hardly knew whether to be flattered or terrified by those ardent words, which could not help but ring hollow in the face of the sordid truth Sasuke had personally made sure to experience, as one of Itachi’s women. Substitutes, Sasuke couldn’t help but think, now, seeing the details and gossip he’d gleaned from here and there about his brother’s preferences in a worrying new light.

_Some brothers we’ve turned out to be,_ Sasuke thought. _One goes around raping women that look like his brother, and the other goes around trying to rape his brother while disguised to look like one of those women._

“…are you even listening to me?” Oh, now that was familiar, that slightly frosty inflection, that too-firm grip on the back of Sasuke’s neck. “Sasuke?”

“Sachiko,” Sasuke said. “It’s about Sachiko.”

Silence ensued.

“What, you’ve forgotten her already?” That Itachi’s hand had fallen away from his neck was—he’d expected it. “How many were there, after her? How many have there been, before _and_ after?”

“Sasuke, there’s—”

“You’re going to tell me there’s an explanation for that, that _trend_?”

“I’ve… I know how it looks.”

“Does Yuri know how it _looks_?”

“Yes. We have an arrangement.”

“Will she be aware of this ‘arrangement’ if I ask her about it when she gets back from the resort?”

“The main reason she’s out there is so she can fuck her current boyfriend, so, yes.”

This was bad. If Yuri knew, but didn’t know enough, and no one that had tried to reach out to her had ever hung in long enough to say what had gone wrong between them and Itachi… “Does she know you rape them?”

Sasuke wasn’t thinking clearly. Asking it like that, just saying it straight out, he _knew_ he’d done the wrong thing as soon as he saw Itachi’s eyes narrow down at him. “I don’t play around with anyone who doesn’t want it, otouto.”

“Well, _I’ve_ heard that you—”

“Heard?” Just that one word made the rest of Sasuke’s half-formed lie clog up in his throat. “From Sachiko?”

“M-maybe.”

For some reason, instead of pulling back further, or just leaning in a bit to pile on the pressure, Itachi lowered his head to the side of Sasuke’s trembling neck, coming so close to it that Sasuke could feel his slightly uneven breaths against his skin. “You smell like her.”

“I—how would that—”

“You know,” Itachi said, cutting him off, “it’s partly thanks to her that I decided to confess to you tonight.”

He was still very close to Sasuke’s neck, still breathing deeply of Sasuke’s scent in a way that was at once terrifying and arousing. “That’s—”

“I knew she was a ninja from the start,” Itachi went on. “The heels. Anyone trained by the corps would never neglect to have them, especially when coming after me.”

_Bullshit,_ Sasuke wanted to snap. _**I** wasn’t trained by the fucking Seduction Corps. Erika-sensei and Neji were all I had to go on, so that doesn’t mean shit._

He refused to think about the fact that Neji, as the immediate guardian of the clan head, would have been required to get some Corps training. Or about the fact that more than half of Erika-sensei’s credentials were classified in her file, and certain parts of Sasuke’s training in infiltration had been supplemented by Corps-approved handbooks.

“I don’t pick up civilians at bars like the Steel Kunai,” Itachi said, pulling back again, but only enough that he could look right at Sasuke as he talked. “Activate your eyes.”

“I don’t—”

“Do it.”

“I, I can’t—”

“I don’t want you deciding anything about me just from what you ‘heard’ from Sachiko-san,” Itachi said, his own eyes already glowing red, a low, ugly tone in his voice. “Look at me properly while I explain, otouto. Give me a chance. _Look_.”

“When I say I can’t, I _can’t_!” Sasuke could feel the imprint of fingernails against the bed of his palm, could feel just how tense he was, tense enough that his stomach roiled. “I’m pregnant, niisan, I can’t just…”

Silence fell between them again.

“Pregnant?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have more porn (yay!) but is currently taking a bit longer to finish than the others have (boo!!). It's coming though~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm pregnant, niisan, I can't just..."
> 
> Silence fell between them again.
> 
> "Pregnant?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol I lied that this was gonna be lots more porn /o\\. They just, idk, really wanted to talk? And then make out a bunch without really getting anywhere??
> 
> **Edit on 03.27.20:** small fixes.

Somehow, the conversation’s intensity never recovered from that bombshell. For the next few moments, all Sasuke traded with Itachi was flat, factual statements. ‘Yes.’ ‘Two and a half months along, approximately.’ ‘I was doing an in-village assessment.’ ‘Yes, you’re the father.’

By the end of that robotic question-and-answer exchange, Sasuke was sitting up in his bed, his back half against the headboard and half against Itachi’s solid chest, and the intimacy of the pose was starting to feel almost normal.

“Huh,” Itachi said. “You’re a lot braver than I am, otouto. Going for it like that.”

“I raped you.”

“Technically, maybe. I wasn’t forced to spirit you away with me.”

“Don’t—don’t minimize it.” Sasuke could understand the logic that was allowing his great transgression to be so easily handled, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it could just be over with like this, with one casually spoken sentence. “Please don’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I should be the one…” Sasuke started to say, then stopped, because it wasn’t like his brother had nothing to be sorry for. “Well. I suppose we’re both sorry.”

Itachi’s arm tightened around his shoulders. And then he said, slowly, just when Sasuke was starting to think he wouldn’t say anything: “You’re not wrong, about what I do.” Then, when Sasuke couldn’t help but stiffen in his arms: “It’s—forced interactions are one of my specialities, in the Corps, but it’s also… it’s also something that I like. Most people that approach me in my free time know that it’s what I prefer.”

Sasuke dearly wished he could activate his eyes right now, not because Itachi’s words didn’t feel honest, but because they felt too much so. There was something about Itachi’s steady, matter-of-fact tone, something about the way he had avoided using the word ‘rape’, something about the way his grip on Sasuke loosened immediately when Sasuke couldn’t help but try to shift away. “Really,” Sasuke said, half because it felt as if his brother was waiting for an acknowledgement, and half to have something to do with his dry mouth. “So that’s how it is.”

“The attraction, for me,” Itachi went on, his each word sounding carefully chosen, “is that it’s supposed to feel real. That my partners trust me to make it feel real. So I go, ah, hunting as myself, and I don’t go after anyone who doesn’t seem trained, but other than that… I know it must sound like an excuse—”

“You’re really fucking lucky I’m in Internal,” Sasuke cut in. “The gods know I’ve heard of people being into weirder crap.” It was just that having an interest in rape simulation was the absolute last thing he’d ever have expected of Itachi, even given what he knew about Itachi’s favoured methods for dealing with (read: abjectly humiliating) disobedient clan members. He’d always thought Itachi would be, if not precisely the gentle type, then the unfailingly attentive type.

Now, of course, Sasuke couldn’t help but think that both types had been very much on display, during his illicit encounters with Itachi. It was just that Itachi’s gentleness had come hand in hand with a startling amount of violence. “I’ll check all this later,” he said, “but for now, I guess I can say I believe you.”

Itachi’s brief sigh of relief felt strangely loud in the silence of the bedroom. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Sasuke found himself murmuring back on autopilot, even though his brother hadn’t used the formal construction that would prompt such a response. “What now?”

Even as Sasuke said those words, he wished he hadn’t, if only so that he didn’t have to bear the sensation of having Itachi turn and _look_ at him. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright, otouto. I understand.” Itachi’s hand closed around Sasuke’s shoulder in a brief, gentle squeeze. “I frightened you all those times, didn’t I?” Itachi bowed his head. “It must have been an awful shock, being treated like that when you least expected it.” Somehow, though he sounded sorry, there was something in the way his hand was kneading Sasuke’s shoulder, something that made Sasuke swallow thickly. “It won’t happen again.”

_Not unless you want it to,_ those careful touches said. _If you do, you have only to ask._

The sensible thing to do was to slowly but surely disengage, and to quietly re-establish their former distance. For one thing, Sasuke hadn’t been joking about verifying Itachi’s story, and he knew things could get awkward between them if he did so, even if everything he could find in his brother’s file matched what he’d said.

And then there was the fact that Itachi had all but declared he wasn’t interested in anything that wasn’t playing at rape. Sasuke didn’t know what to do with that knowledge; he couldn’t help but think that he’d only enjoyed their previous encounters because they were forbidden delights. That Itachi was so impossible for him to obtain in any other way that there was nothing to do but bear with the discomfort, the worry, the shock.

“May I stay the night?” said impossibility was asking now, his voice low and pleading. “We don’t have to do anything. I can just, if you don’t mind me holding you…”

“I don’t mind,” Sasuke said, roughly. _Stupid,_ he thought, but he didn’t resist when Itachi pulled him closer, one arm already settling around his waist. “It’s probably better that we lie down, if we want to try to get any sleep.”

“Mm. Of course.”

Lying down beside Itachi like this was a terrible idea. He didn’t quite let go of Sasuke as they both shuffled around in bed, his arm a constant, teasingly warm weight. And of course he didn’t allow for more than an inch or two of distance between their bodies. His breath warmed the back of Sasuke’s neck. His palm stroked a slow, circular pattern up and down Sasuke’s side.

“Niisan, this really—”

“Can I kiss you again?” Itachi’s voice wasn’t the least bit choked, and his tone seemed smoother than Sasuke had ever heard it. He still sounded desperate. “Once. Just once.”

“All right,” Sasuke found himself saying. “Once.”

It wasn’t just once. Sasuke, having steeled himself to turn around to face his brother and try not to enjoy it too much, was caught unprepared when Itachi leaned in and devoured his mouth. It was sloppy and wet, the slide of Itachi’s tongue against his own so mesmerizing that Sasuke forgot to breathe. Then, when Itachi pulled back, Sasuke found himself arching up despite himself, desperate for more.

He moaned when Itachi sucked on his bottom lip, and again when Itachi bit him. It was only when Itachi pulled away again that he came back to himself.

“Can I…?” Itachi bent in, his breath hot against the side of Sasuke’s neck. “One more kiss?”

“One,” Sasuke said, thickly. _Stupid,_ he thought again, but didn’t do anything other than let out a betraying gasp when Itachi began to lick and suck at the join between his neck and his shoulder.

Somehow, it was only then that it really hit Sasuke, the knowledge that Itachi remembered what he liked. What Sachiko had liked. “That isn’t a kiss,” Sasuke heard himself saying, breathlessly. “That—you’re cheating.”

Itachi, undaunted, gave the sensitive skin of his neck one last suck. “Sorry.”

“We…” Itachi’s hand kept stroking up and down his front, never quite going far enough to be satisfying. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t we?” That dark tone was all too familiar. As Sachiko, hearing Itachi sound that way had meant that something pleasurable but humiliating was about to happen; as himself, Sasuke didn’t know what to expect. “Don’t you want me?” Itachi’s hand finally moved further downwards, stroking around to the side, lingering on Sasuke’s left hip. “Don’t you want me here?”

Itachi’s hand squeezed his hip only just hard enough to be felt, once, twice. That first, firm squeeze made Sasuke squirm. The second made him all too aware that he had gotten wet enough that his boxers were sticking to him in front and along his inner thighs. “You won’t fit,” he heard himself say. “You _can’t_.”

Itachi’s other hand moved down, ghosting over Sasuke’s right hip, his touch barely able to be felt through Sasuke’s sweatpants. He didn’t touch the place where Sasuke’s cock was distorting the material in front; he simply settled his hand on Sasuke’s twitching right thigh. “I can go here, instead.”

“What part of ‘can’t’ don’t you—I’m telling you, the cunt I have when I’m like this is too fucking small!”

“What?” Itachi’s hands tightened their grip on him. “You’ve, you have that, right now?”

“How the hell would I still be pregnant without one?”

“Good point.” Itachi sounded like he was smiling, and it was killing Sasuke not to look. But looking would mean acknowledging—no, _accepting_ the decidedly dirty shift in their formerly serious conversation. “Can I see?”

“_No._” Light and unthreatening as that question had sounded, there was no way ‘seeing’ would be the only thing that happened if Sasuke said yes. Sasuke couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. “You—_don’t_—”

“Please,” Itachi whispered, even as his hand stroked up and up and up, his fingers skimming smoothly under the hem of Sasuke’s t-shirt, and then outlining the base of his tender right breast. “Just a little?”

“You… nngh.” Itachi’s hand was so warm. So familiar. And even though Sasuke hadn’t really given him permission, his slow, stroking touch was exactly as advertised. Itachi’s hand cupped Sasuke’s breast, avoiding so much as brushing against its stiff, aching nipple. When that warm hand finally began to move down and away, Sasuke couldn’t help but let out a brief, frustrated moan. “I hate you.”

“I did say it would only be a little,” was the low, even answer. “If you want more, otouto, you’ll have to ask.”

Sasuke bit his lip, hard. Itachi’s hand was now sliding back out from under his t-shirt, and that smooth movement dragged down the t-shirt hem just enough that the fabric rubbed against his aching nipples. “Can you really not understand why I don’t want to do this right now?”

“Earlier, you said something about your cunt being too small,” Itachi said, the slight, fond smile on his face a jarring contrast to his crude words. “You know, I think you misunderstood me, when I touched you here,” and now his hand was back on Sasuke’s right thigh, squeezing so gently that Sasuke couldn’t help but cant his hips in that direction. “I was thinking that, instead of using one of your holes, you could let me use your thighs.”

Cringing inwardly (_what the hell is wrong with me that all I could think of was him in my cunt?_), Sasuke managed to hold firm, shaking his head in response to that not-quite-question. “It’s not about what… hole is, is appropriate.” This conversation was so surreal, so strange it made him feel as if he might be having a very long, crazily involved dream. “If—when I look into your past, uh—” Dates? Lovers? Victims? “—your past relationships, if I find anything wrong—”

“You won’t.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I have to look, niisan. I have to. And before that, before I’m certain, I don’t want…” Sasuke was already all too aware of how his willpower and common sense tended to dwindle into nothing whenever it came to things involving his brother. This was already bad enough, this long, strange, terrifyingly beautiful night. Whatever happened, whatever he found or didn’t find, Sasuke knew he would be masturbating to the memory of these hazy moments no matter what. “I can’t, okay? I can’t.”

Itachi’s fingers tightened their grip on Sasuke’s thigh for one long, breathless moment. Sasuke’s heart was pounding so hard that when he heard Itachi say one low, bitten-off word, he couldn’t understand it.

Then Itachi’s hand was lifting off of him, and it was impossible to misunderstand just what had been decided. “I can use your bathroom, right?” was the next thing Itachi said that Sasuke fully understood. “Thank you.”

Numb, Sasuke watched his brother edge away from him. He’d felt himself nod in response to that question, but distantly, as if it were someone else moving his body. _Don’t,_ he wanted to say, like an idiot. _Don’t go yet._

The only reason Sasuke said nothing was the fact that after Itachi rose from the bed, Itachi bent back in and caressed his cheek. “I’ll be back soon, otouto.” Those tender words made Sasuke feel like the world’s biggest pervert for rubbing his face against the familiar, calloused warmth of his brother’s hand, for planning to repurpose every bit of this moment in the very near future. “Wait for me, okay?”

“Hn,” Sasuke said, nodding minutely. His hands were in his sweatpants almost as soon as Itachi left, palming himself through his boxers. Up until now, he hadn’t dared to move, certain it’d only make his raging lust more obvious, but now, now… “Aghh… hn… hah…”

He knew he was being loud, knew that the thin walls of his apartment would betray him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It’d be all right if niisan heard him. Niisan definitely wouldn’t mind. In fact, niisan was probably, right now, probably…

“_Ungh_—!” Sasuke flushed, embarrassed to hear himself. _I’ll be back soon, otouto,_ Itachi said warmly, in his thoughts, only instead of having settled on Sasuke’s cheek, Itachi’s hand was down below, weighing and squeezing Sasuke’s aching balls. _Keep it in for me, okay? Niisan will drink it all for you soon._

That was when Sasuke came, overwhelmed by his fantasies. His cunt clenched. He felt every spurt of come forcing its way out of him, staining the front of the sweatpants. He’d been meaning to turn over and see if Itachi’s scent had already had time to permeate his pillow or his sheets, but he’d been too worked up to spare even a minute.

Panting, Sasuke rolled over onto his front, lowering his face to the sheets. As he breathed in, savouring the slight hint of his brother’s sweat, he couldn’t stop himself from reaching further down between his legs with the less sticky hand.

He knew he needed to hurry up. He didn’t want to be caught like this, on his stomach, his legs slightly spread, his face buried in the sheets. He felt like a whore, like the two fingers spearing his cunt were the only important thing in his lust-fogged world.

Luckily, he was far too sensitive and wet for his next orgasm to take too long. Just as he was getting close, he forced in another finger, and bit down choked, plaintive cries as he clenched around all three. _How much more can fit?_ he kept thinking. _I want to try it. I want to let niisan try it._

By the time Sasuke had seized around his fingers for the last time, he felt almost too drained to move. Somehow, he dragged himself up out of bed and wiped down, changing into clean pajama pants.

When Itachi finally returned, Sasuke was once again in bed, having carefully blotted the one stray splash of his come with the same jutsu-dampened cloth he’d cleaned himself with. He’d spent several minutes dithering over whether or not to change the sheets entirely, only to hear the telltale gurgle of the shower’s ancient piping dying down.

“Asleep yet?”

“No.” Sasuke wished he’d been collected enough to feign that. As it was, the best he could manage was to fold up and set aside the puffy green blanket and replace it with a heavy woolen one that would actually cover both him and his brother. “You showered?”

“Yes.” Itachi was wearing the same clothes as he had before, and his hair didn’t look more than a tiny bit damp, but he smelled like the light, spicy scent of the shampoo Sasuke usually used while in the village, and that was a dead giveaway. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

By mutual agreement, neither of them spoke as Itachi approached the side of the bed. Sasuke held his breath as he felt his brother settle down beside him. Against all his panicked expectations, Itachi didn’t try to get closer to him under the blanket. The only even slightly nerve-wracking thing that happened was Itachi reaching across to ruffle his hair as he murmured a sleepy ‘good night’.

_It won’t take too long to find out what I need, right?_ Sasuke thought. _Two more nights like this will kill me._ He was horny again just from feeling Itachi lie down beside him, aroused as if he hadn’t just come twice in a row. Much as he could blame some of that on his having a cunt (it just didn’t feel satisfying coming only once with one), Sasuke knew quite well that the major part of the blame centered on the way he reacted to his brother. _I’ll just have to call in a few favours in Internal,_ he told himself. _The sooner I understand this… habit of Itachi’s, the better._

* * *

The next morning, it took Sasuke far too long to understand what had happened when he woke up nestled in against someone’s warm, steady chest, and with someone’s hand stroking through his hair. “Nngh,” he mumbled. “’S too early, Neji. Lemme sleep.”

The hand paused at the back of his head, then continued its slow journey down, a warm, pleasant weight against the back of his neck. The thumb stroked under Sasuke’s chin, gently encouraging him to lift it up. “Kiss?”

That prompted Sasuke to open his eyes, for all the good it did him. The first thing he saw was Itachi’s slightly too wide smile. And then Sasuke could barely see much more than that wickedly familiar mouth. “Nnh…”

It didn’t seem like a good idea to bring up Itachi’s tentative agreement last night about not rushing Sasuke into anything. Their kiss was filthy and wet and slightly off-tasting, and exactly the opposite of what Neji would have wanted, if Neji had indeed been the person in Sasuke’s bed this morning.

“I know you were with him for a while,” Itachi murmured, afterwards, his thumb stroking over Sasuke’s parted lips. “You don’t need to explain.”

“Uh,” was all Sasuke could say, because he’d _never ever_ mentioned Neji around his friends _or_ his family. Even aside from that, he and Neji had met more often in their disguises than they ever had as themselves. The thought that Itachi had still somehow figured it out from catching a distant glimpse of them, or from someone else having done so, was more than a bit unnerving. “Okay.”

“You probably do need to get the door, though,” Itachi said, smiling again, and this time, the thing that made Sasuke panic wasn’t that warm smile, but the unmistakeable sound of Sakura pounding at the door with slightly less patience than usual. “Perhaps before she breaks it down, otouto?”

Snarling under his breath, Sasuke managed to stumble out of bed and snatch up his dressing gown from the nearby wardrobe without looking back in his brother’s direction even once. There was something deeply annoying at how quickly Itachi had gone from exacting punishment on Sasuke for having mistook him for another man to smiling casually at Sakura’s antics. Sakura was Sasuke’s close friend and former teammate, but surely that didn’t mean she was someone to dismiss as no threat, someone Itachi didn’t mind showing up at—Sasuke turned his head to check—four forty-five am and demanding to be let into Sasuke’s home.

_Is it because she’s a woman?_ Sasuke couldn’t help but think, even as he struggled into the dressing gown and tied tight the belt. _Does niisan think I don’t do women?_

It was with that sullen, irrational thought—because Sasuke didn’t _really_ do women unless he was on mission—that he answered the door, ignoring Sakura’s pointed sniff and narrow-eyed appraisal as she swaggered into his apartment. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Whaaat, I can’t even see who it is you bagged?” But she was already laying out her testing kit on the coffee table, gesturing at him to come sit beside her on the couch. “You bagged, right? You’re wearing way too much, if you didn’t.”

Scowling, Sasuke suppressed a guilty twitch. He and Itachi hadn’t really done anything together, when all was said and done. There was no reason for him to feel a little bit on the spot, no reason at all. “Please tell me you’ve heard from your specialist.”

“Alright, alright, there’s good news—open up, please, hold till the beep—and there’s so-so news. What do you want to hear first?”

“Just fucking say it all, I don’t care.”

“Well okay, fine, Mr. Bad Mood.” Sakura pulled the thermometer out of Sasuke’s mouth, pausing briefly to note down the temperature on his semi-official chart. “Yakushi-sensei—that’s the specialist, by the way—sent a message to say his return will be delayed by few days or so. However, that’s because _his_ sensei, Tsunade-sama, is planning to come up here with him for her semi-annual visit to pay respects.”

Sasuke, despite not being at all plugged in enough to the medic-nin circuit to get more than a vague sense of familiarity from the name ‘Yakushi’, naturally knew just who Tsunade was. “I’m guessing you haven’t yet gotten to the good news?”

“Are you deaf? _The_ Tsunade will be within at least walking distance of the village in under a week! Even if she doesn’t agree to do your examination, there’s no way she won’t comment on the situation at all!” Sakura, despite her heated words, was now very calmly and carefully circulating minuscule trickles of medical chakra through his pathways, mapping out the spots of irritation with one hand while the other remained curled about his wrist. “Anyway, the bad news is you’ll have to travel down to Aishou and be admitted to their teaching hospital if you want to be seen.”

“Hn.” It wasn’t until Sakura had pulled both hand and chakra away from him that Sasuke properly processed what she’d just said. “Wait, why the hell—”

“Even though Tsunade-sama’s visit is called that, it’s not like she actually… I mean, let me put it this way, she only ever comes near enough to see the village walls. Anyone who wants to see her usually ends up admitting themselves at the Northwestern Teaching Hospital.”

“Huh,” Sasuke muttered. One look at Sakura’s apologetic expression told him everything he needed to know about the chance of talking Yakushi-sensei into coming up to the village to check him out. Though Sasuke supposed he understood why that was—_he_ couldn’t imagine not rearranging his plans around such a famous and influential teacher’s whims—he couldn’t help but resent it a little, especially since getting openly admitted anywhere but at Konoha General would mean an avalanche of questions from Mother, if no one else.

Worse, given that he definitely wouldn’t be the only person scrambling to arrange things so he’d have a chance to have his case overlooked by one of the world’s most famous medic-nin, he’d probably have to wait at least a day or two before he could be seen, even with Sakura pulling whatever strings she could.

“I’m going to have to apply for another fucking extension of leave, aren’t I?” Sakura’s increasingly sympathetic glances made his shoulders droop. “At this rate, I’m going to have to make up some kind of illness to sell to Internal.”

“There’s no need to make anything up,” Sakura said, jotting down some final notes on his chart. “Your current symptoms of chakra hypersensitivity and imbalance will do just fine. It’s hardly as if people don’t end up with that from regular stress or strain from missions.”

After that, she did her usual five and a half minutes of unnecessary tidying and a check of his fridge, muttering in passing about how she’d already started an official file for him at Konoha General with all but the most important detail regarding his current condition. “Can’t remember the file number right now, but I’ll courier it over to you by tonight. Make sure not to strain yourself too much during your second round this morning, okay?”

“You—” Naturally, she was grinning and gone in a shunshin before he could spit out more than that. “Ugh.” Sasuke, scowling, couldn’t resist slamming his front door closed. “What fucking second round, when there wasn’t even a first one to begin with.” And of course there was the fact that, even with his chakra deliberately relaxed, Sasuke had been unable to miss the telltale itching that struck whenever his bedroom window’s security seals were being bypassed while he was nearby. “He’s probably gone by now, anyway.”

However, it was one thing for Sasuke to harbour such pessimistic expectations and quite another for him to return to his bedroom, nudge open the door, only to see the disordered blanket was the sole object on his conspicuously empty bed. He couldn’t help but freeze for a moment, a flood of irrational fear welling up in him until his chest felt tight and somehow heavy.

“Sasuke?” The sweet, sudden shock of having his name called out by Itachi—Itachi, whose crouched form had wavered into view on the ledge outside his bedroom window—more than made up for the embarrasing way Sasuke missed a step on hearing it, stumbling over nothing. “Are you all right?”

“No thanks to you,” Sasuke said, shakily. “Don’t _do_ that. Gods, I thought…”

“Come here. All the way to the window.”

Sasuke didn’t know quite what to do with himself for a long, wordless moment. “Someone could see—”

“I don’t care. Come here.” Then, when Sasuke only moved forward by half a halting step, Itachi sighed. “Look, the worst has already happened, right? But you know, otouto, I don’t care if you’re pregnant. I don’t care how it started or where this thing between us will go, so long as you’re in it with me. Are you?”

“I,” Sasuke said, through a dry mouth, “I’m not… I mean, I thought we were going to wait till after my investigation…?”

“Come closer.” By now, Itachi had reopened the window from the outside, and was leaning in through it a bit, his gaze nearly too intense to meet. “Closer.”

Sasuke was flushed now, and wretchedly hard. Itachi barely had to take hold of one lapel of his dressing gown and pull him close for a moment. He shivered as Itachi’s parted lips approached his cheek, then paused just a hair’s breadth away. “Don’t—”

“Say you’re with me.” Every word was a lure, a caress. “Say you’re mine, Sasuke.”

In this position, it would only take a small, slight shift of Itachi’s hand to turn Sasuke’s face the extra inch that would bring their mouths together. “Has—has anyone ever told you that you don’t _listen_?”

“If you say you’re mine, you can tell me that as much as you like.” Then, smiling, Itachi pressed a brief, hot kiss to his cheek, and another right on his mouth, Itachi’s tongue darting out to tease at the seam of his lips when he refused to part them. “Have a nice day, otouto.”

Moments after Itachi had left, Sasuke finally came to his senses enough to close the window. “I didn’t say it,” he muttered to himself. “He couldn’t make me say it.”

But Itachi had let out a low, delighted laugh when Sasuke found himself licking his lips when Itachi pulled away, and that had led to another, deeper kiss, one Itachi forced on him before he knew what was happening. That he hadn’t given in verbally didn’t mean he hadn’t given in at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna jinx myself re the next chapter's porn content this time. NO WAY NO HOW.
> 
> Anyway, hopefully you enjoyed this ;D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next few hours found Sasuke struggling to maintain the focused, detail-hunting state he did his best intelligence work in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's been so long (?) since I've updated this =.=. Don't be fooled by the summary, this chapter's mostly porn with a delightfully angsty seasoning ( •̀ ω •́ )✧
> 
> **Edit on 03.31.20:** minor fixes + continuity stuff.

The next few hours found Sasuke struggling to maintain the focused, detail-hunting state he did his best intelligence work in. Everything seemed to conspire against him, from the simple fact of reading Itachi’s name or ninja number in the logs and records he was paging through, to the occasional glimpses he caught of Itachi.

There was no way around any of it, too. He’d very quickly realized that the easiest way to access most of Itachi’s unredacted files was to trawl through one of the sleek filing cabinets in the clan office near the centre of the Uchiha district, and it wasn’t as if Sasuke could demand that Itachi stop walking around and talking to various clan members just because he was there. Sasuke was the one on leave, after all, the one that should be doing all the accommodating.

Itachi, on the other hand, was only ever truly on leave when on an official vacation that took him out of the village. And even then, the presence of an Uchiha clan member automatically meant Itachi needed to keep an eye out for them just in case.

Somehow, that morning and that afternoon, that unofficial duty of care meant that Itachi stopped by Sasuke’s borrowed desk to squeeze his shoulder or offer him tea every half hour or so. That Itachi very calmly offered the same personal touch to every other obvious visitor, claimant or petitioner hanging around the office didn’t take away from Sasuke’s building unease.

It didn’t help that Sasuke had realized within the first hour of his investigation that Itachi had been telling him the truth. Or that the next few hours were spent on needless due diligence, a slow, thorough read-through of every sub-folder in Itachi’s ‘acknowledged relationships’ file.

Sasuke had known he didn’t need to read every single one of them. He’d known reading through the meticulous, dry reports—always filled out in Itachi’s tidy print—would hurt him. He’d still kept reading.

He hadn’t known what to feel at seeing his own name—Sachiko’s name—pop up in one of the more recently filed reports. He’d stared at that sparsely written sheet of paper for what felt like a whole quarter hour, counting inwardly, matching the shorthand descriptions of each encounter (relationships with suspect individuals required an encounter log) to his lurid memories.

There was something oddly bitter about getting to the profile at the end of the report and seeing a hastily scribbled note that reclassified Yanagi Sachiko as a confirmed Konohan ANBU/ISEC/SEDU cover identity. For all that the note did not specify who the identity belonged to, it made Sasuke feel terribly exposed. Revealed, for all that Sachiko really was the kind of shell identity most everyone used while in a pinch.

Somehow, Sasuke managed the long, chilly walk home without any trouble. Much as he disliked that the only thing keeping him from sinking into a blind haze of jealousy was a series of useless, tangential thoughts, fears and worries, there was nothing he could do about it. Not remembering every name Itachi had acknowledged having ties to was already the best Sasuke could do.

The irrational fear that anyone who reviewed Itachi’s latest relationship reports would _know_ who Itachi had really been fucking lasted him until he reached the outer edge of his neighbourhood. Then that fear was supplanted by the fact that Itachi’s recorded partners had rarely been men—men that didn’t seem to look at all like Sasuke, just to add in another worrying factor to the whole situation.

(_What if, when it gets down to it, niisan just really wants me as a woman?_ That was the kind of useless thought that kept intruding on Sasuke, even as he seethed while remembering the dry, joking tone of Itachi’s report on being chased by a persistent Iwa nin during a diplomatic mission.)

(It really was a useless thought, too. Sasuke knew exactly what he would do if Itachi had a really strong preference for women; he just felt guilty when he thought about how low he was willing to sink, if it would mean he could hold on to his brother.)

Thankfully, nothing else about Itachi’s relationship reports had seemed out of the ordinary. Anyone that had to fill those out for any reason quickly grew numb to the formal language and the inherent ridiculousness of referring to a night of passionate sex the same way you referred to progress made on a mission. Initially, reading those reports had actually been a little amusing. Illuminating in a way that stung and soothed at the same time.

You see, Itachi used much the same shorthand that anyone in their line of work did. ‘The target’s sister was chosen because it seemed they would be receptive to my advances’ when you meant ‘the target’s sister eyefucked me all night, so I knew to start with her’. ‘The target’s uncle seemed an unpromising avenue of attack until I tried a more direct approach’ when you meant ‘I had to play the pushy, forward whore because he didn’t have the guts to start anything’.

Still, as Sasuke continued reading, he’d found himself feeling more and more upset, something he hadn’t expected at all. After all, he’d always known his brother had an active sex life. The three different girlfriends Itachi had gone through before the betrothal with Yuri had been proof enough that Itachi wasn’t the type to hold back in that regard. Yet, something about the reports, the names, the vague, professionally clinical descriptions of acts performed and requested, made Itachi’s history all too real.

_He can’t want only me,_ Sasuke couldn’t help but think. Seduction missions weren’t the kind of thing you had to accept so frequently, especially not when you were being groomed to become clan head, or were already serving as clan head. Itachi’s file had only been that thick because he’d chosen it. _There’s no way he’ll be satisfied with just one partner if he’s been like this for all these years._

Then, as Sasuke let himself back into his freezing apartment: _He hasn’t read **my** file, has he?_

There was nothing at all rational about the surge of panic and shame Sasuke felt once that ominous thought crossed his mind. He knew that, but he still lost a moment to it, shivering just inside the threshold, the door still open, his hand clamped tightly around the doorknob.

Somehow, he managed to make himself let go. Somehow, he closed the door. Somehow, he changed into indoor sandals and padded into the kitchen, reasoning that getting something to eat would make him feel better.

* * *

Hours later, Sasuke startled awake in bed, not at all sure how he’d gotten there. One squinting look at the bedside table on his left revealed three large, empty disposable ramen bowls. Another look at his widely open bedroom door alerted him to what had probably woken him up: Itachi.

Itachi gave him a brief, apologetic look before gently closing the bedroom door as he left. “No, Masao-kun, I don’t mind running through the situation with you. If you’ll just… the kitchen…”

There was probably some sort of sound-dampening jutsu in effect in the hallway. Sasuke rubbed his aching eyes as he forced himself to a seated position, his hands shoving back the stuffy warmth of the blankets piled on him.

Now he remembered the ramen. It was the expensive stuff, the kind Naruto used to steal from his supplies when their team was assigned (punished with) the long, freezing message run to Snow country. One of those bowls had been Itachi’s, who’d brought them all in, knocking on the kitchen window a few minutes after Sasuke had shuffled in there.

After that, they’d boiled some water and eaten side by side in the bed, because the bedroom warmed up faster than everywhere else in the apartment. And then Sasuke had curled up and fallen asleep the way his tired body had been begging him to, hating how good it felt to do so pressed against Itachi’s warm, lean side, with Itachi’s hand stroking through his hair.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Itachi said, the sudden presence of his voice and his footsteps making Sasuke flinch. “He just left, by the way.”

“Nothing serious?”

“Nothing serious.” The light in the hallway outlined Itachi’s familiar form as he opened the bedroom door and walked back in, shutting it gently behind himself. Suddenly, Sasuke realized part of why he felt so disoriented. The lights were off, and the chakra block Sakura had painstakingly put on Sasuke’s optical pathways a few days ago was what was stifling his instinctive attempts to activate his Sharingan. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m just… tired. Slow.”

“Sleep some more, then,” Itachi said, as he sat back down beside Sasuke. “You look like you need it.”

“Okay,” murmured Sasuke. He’d never felt more awake in his life than at this moment, with Itachi near, with Itachi this deliberately close. Lying down like this, all Sasuke could see of Itachi’s body was his trim waist and lean, muscled thighs.

That Itachi was still dressed only made it harder to look away. _I’m just looking,_ Sasuke couldn’t help but think. _I’m not going to do anything._ For all that he was fairly sure by now that Itachi had told the truth about his… leanings, to be absolutely sure, the best thing to do was to try and interview one or two of Itachi’s past flames, even if it would mean needing to call in a favour or two from fellow Internal Security ninja to get it done. Until that step was taken, Sasuke was honour bound to keep his distance.

“What?” Itachi had clearly not missed the way Sasuke was looking at him. “You want something?”

“No, I—mmgh—” Was Itachi _trying_ to make things difficult on purpose? Kissing him like this, had Itachi forgot where they were, and how easily things could escalate if either of them lost control? “Don’t… mmph…”

Moments later, when Itachi finally pulled back, they were both breathing heavily. “Can’t we just do this the way we did it last night?” His hand stroked down the side of Sasuke’s neck. “Isn’t that okay?”

“It can’t…” ‘Become a habit,’ Sasuke wanted to say, even though it didn’t make any sense. Suddenly, it struck him that this could very well become a habit now, become something they shared every night they were both in the village. _Can I really have this?_ Sasuke thought, even as he watched Itachi’s shadowed, faintly smiling face coming closer again, slowly enough that if he wanted, he could avoid the warm, wet press of those lips against his own. _Do I really deserve this?_

Itachi was halfway on top of him now. Itachi’s grip on his shoulder tightened until it hurt, squeezing and kneading rhythmically, not quite in time with the slow, insidious thrust of Itachi’s tongue in his mouth. All Sasuke could think about was that tongue, rubbing against his own, leaving damp, hot trails wherever Itachi’s mouth touched him.

Already, things had escalated. Itachi was no longer content just to conquer Sasuke’s mouth; his hands pulled at the neck of Sasuke’s t-shirt, distorting the material, baring as much of Sasuke’s chest and shoulder as was possible. He bit, licked and sucked at the crook of Sasuke’s neck, each action only just light enough that it wouldn’t leave lasting marks.

He hadn’t yet touched Sasuke’s chest, but the way he kept manipulating Sasuke’s t-shirt made it feel as if it was just a matter of time before he went that far. Sasuke’s breasts felt way too prominent like this, with him arching forward despite himself, but he couldn’t—

“More?” Itachi asked. “This much should already be enough for you, right?”

“I…” Sasuke gulped. “You, you touched—I mean, if, if we’re doing it just like last night…”

“You want me to touch your breasts?” Even as Sasuke paused, too guilty to respond, Itachi’s wicked hand was smoothing down over his chest. His fingers lightly traced Sasuke’s curves there, ignoring Sasuke’s nipples, Sasuke’s increasingly harsh breaths. “Is it enough now?”

It wasn’t, and he knew that, and yet he was still looking down at Sasuke earnestly, like the only thing he cared about was how to very respectfully get Sasuke horny enough to masturbate once he’d left the room. “Squeeze me,” Sasuke let out, through gritted teeth. “Squeeze me there, then get the hell out.”

For answer, Itachi shifted, trailing both his hands up Sasuke’s sides. He didn’t just squeeze when his hands finally stroked over Sasuke’s aching breasts; he _pinched_, pulling harshly on Sasuke’s stiff nipples. Sasuke jerked beneath him, biting back a helpless moan. “I don’t see why I have to leave.”

“If you d-don’t… if you don’t leave, I’ll… ngh!” Wasn’t Itachi supposed to just do it once? Why was he still— “Stop it! I only wanted it once, so please…”

“I promise I won’t do anything, otouto,” Itachi said, hoarsely. “I’ll just watch you touch yourself, okay? Please?”

Sasuke’s hand was already tight around the base of his cock, betraying him. “I don’t believe you. You’ll…”

“I won’t. I promise I won’t.” Itachi licked his lips. “I won’t do anything you don’t want. Just pretend, otouto. Do it as if I wasn’t here.”

It was an impossible request. Sasuke bit the inside of his lip and tried to comply anyway, closing his eyes, doing his level best to ignore his brother’s heavy breathing. Hearing Itachi as he shifted off to the side only made Sasuke more aware of his heated gaze.

Naturally, it didn’t take long at all for Sasuke to come, even though he didn’t bother to reach inside his pants to jerk himself off. Just knowing Itachi could see what he was doing and could easily reach out and help him whether he liked it or not was enough to tip him over the edge, moaning in the back of his throat as he felt his come painting the inside of his boxers.

“Is that it?” Itachi asked. When Sasuke didn’t respond, he shifted back in, his thigh pressing against the outside of Sasuke’s. “Don’t you need to finger yourself too?”

Sasuke gulped. “I don’t…”

“You need these off for better access, right?” was the next, shameless question. “I’ll help.” And help he did, without waiting for Sasuke to stammer something in response, his clever hands squeezing Sasuke’s arse as he unzipped Sasuke’s trousers and dragged them down. “I can already tell how wet you are, otouto. Spread your legs, okay? Let me see it properly.”

“You _can’t_,” Sasuke moaned, even as he felt his brother’s hands peeling down his boxers and coaxing his trembling thighs apart. “You promised, niisan. You can’t…”

“I just want to see. I’m not going to touch anything directly.” Saying that while Sasuke could feel hot, eager breaths against the bare skin of his inner thighs, just who was Itachi trying to fool? “Go on, otouto. Put your fingers inside.”

_He wants to see it,_ Sasuke couldn’t help but think. _He wants to see how much I can take._ Knowing that, it was all too easy to give in, to move his trembling fingers down between his thighs. Penetrating himself was so easy it made him flush.

“Try three,” Itachi said, hungrily. “If they get in…”

“You’ll fuck me there,” Sasuke gritted out. “Right?” The brief, guilty expression on his brother’s face made him laugh, if in a more breathless, near-hysterical manner than he would have preferred. “You might as well. We’re already—you’re already—ngh!”

What the hell was wrong with him that made a simple, harsh squeeze of Itachi’s hand around his thigh feel so good? _More,_ Sasuke thought, shifting his hand so he could insert two more fingers. It hurt—four was probably too much—but it soothed the itch within him, and it made Itachi let out a low, hungry groan.

Sasuke’s cock was starting to stiffen again already. It only made the desperate thrusts of his fingers feel more perverse. His wrist was pressed against the base of his cock, damp with his own wetness, and he could feel his balls starting to draw up, and Itachi was _watching_, Itachi was there to witness just how greedy Sasuke could be for sex, how much he enjoyed it, how badly he needed it.

Then suddenly Itachi’s warm, calloused hand closed around Sasuke’s shaft, and there was nothing Sasuke could do but thrust up and cry out. “I’m sorry,” he heard Itachi say, in a low, choked tone. “I can’t just watch.” And then Itachi’s mouth was on him, enclosing the sensitive, pulsing, sticky head of Sasuke’s cock in unexpected warmth.

Coming like that, filling up his brother’s mouth with the few, weak spurts of come he had left to him… wordlessly, Sasuke thrust up and in, convulsing from the force of his orgasm. He felt his cunt clench around his fingers so hard that it hurt. He felt Itachi’s tongue, licking the underside of his twitching cock. And then, when Itachi guided his fingers back out of his spasming cunt, he felt Itachi’s tongue again, dipping between his fingers, stimulating them even as Itachi sucked them clean.

When Itachi moved in even closer and began to lick inside him, Sasuke trembled. He knew exactly what was coming next. He knew, too, that he should probably refuse it, try to stop it, or slow it down, but right then, he couldn’t bear to. Itachi’s left hand had crept up from his groin to rest on his stomach, rubbing a slow, smooth circle against his skin to match the thrust of Itachi’s tongue into his cunt.

_Even like this,_ Sasuke thought, _even after what I did to start this, he still wants me?_

“Mmm,” Itachi murmured, his breath tantalizingly warm against the lips of Sasuke’s cunt. “I think you’re right, otouto. It’d be difficult to get fully inside you with you like this.”

“Then… thighs?” Sasuke tried not to feel too surprised at how hoarse he already sounded. Crying out so loudly for what felt like five minutes straight hadn’t done his voice any favours. “Or, I could—hgh, hnn…”

“You could what?” Itachi’s fingers stroked into his cunt, their slow, steady intrusion making Sasuke want to wriggle to try and get them in deeper. “Tell me.”

“I could…” Sasuke swallowed. “I could suck you.” Sasuke had felt too conscious of his act as a shy, conflicted civilian to offer to do anything like that the few times he and Itachi had fucked, and he’d always regretted that lost opportunity, that chance to swallow down his brother’s seed. “Can I?”

Itachi’s fingers faltered within him for a moment. “That’s… it’s really nice of you to offer.”

That wasn’t at all the response Sasuke had been expecting, and certainly wasn’t the one he wanted. “Oh,” he heard himself saying. “Then, my thighs?”

He tried not to think anything about the brief, telling pause that followed, especially since Itachi bent back in to lick him afterwards. That the hot, sudden stroke of Itachi’s tongue could feel so wet, so warm, so _good_ even as Sasuke felt his confidence in his desirability wilting away, well, that was just more proof of what he was. A greedy, clingy slut, willing to spread himself wide open to his brother even when—"_Agh!_

And then Sasuke couldn’t think anymore, the thudding of his heart and the constant wicked movement of Itachi’s tongue on and in his trembling cunt drowning everything else out. It felt—it wasn’t an orgasm just yet, but it felt—and then Itachi began paying attention to Sasuke’s inner thighs, licking and biting at him there, and Sasuke melted back against the bed, overwhelmed.

_Even this,_ he thought, dimly, only to break off into a low, tortured moan when Itachi’s hands began to stroke up and down the now increasingly sensitive skin of his thighs. It just felt so dirty, so much more purposeful than even the first dip of Itachi’s fingers into his cunt. Perhaps it was because he could feel a slight tremble in Itachi’s fingers as they stroked and squeezed. Perhaps it was because he’d just come twice, but he still wanted more.

Perhaps it was because all he could think of now was how hard and hot and _huge_ Itachi’s cock would be, when it was forced through the well-lubed gap between his tightly pressed-together thighs.

“Next time, otouto,” Itachi murmured, even as a small gesture and a twist of chakra yielded a large squeeze bottle of lube, “next time, niisan will fuck your mouth nice and full, okay?”

(There was something really wrong with Sasuke for tightening up more around Itachi’s fingers just then.)

And then it was the moment of truth, Itachi shifting until his full weight was on top of Sasuke. His fingers wandered between them, first pinching at the softened head of Sasuke’s cock, then going on to take more obvious advantage. “Shift your leg a little, here.”

“Like… like this?” The rest of Sasuke’s slightly worried question faded away soon enough, though, because Itachi had already lined up and started forcing into the tight space between Sasuke’s thighs.

“Yes. It’s—hn. It’s good.” Now, whenever Itachi spoke, his warm breaths tickled Sasuke’s ear. “Well done, otouto.”

A hot, stupid burst of satisfaction washed over Sasuke. Itachi had smiled and told him he was doing well once or twice when he was Sachiko, but it hadn’t felt all that meaningful. Now, though, hearing Itachi’s low, hoarse voice made even the most casual, standard praise stand out. “So tight.” “So fucking soft.” Itachi’s hands had found their way up to Sasuke’s chest again, groping and pinching and squeezing. “I wish I could fuck your cunt, otouto. You felt so good around my fingers.”

“Please,” Sasuke couldn’t help but beg. “Come on me. Soak me, niisan, get me wet…”

Itachi groaned. He sped up enough that the bed creaked beneath them, something Sasuke could barely hear above the obscene slap of their bodies meeting. There was so much sensation—the harsh heat of Itachi’s breaths against the side of Sasuke’s neck, the urgent slide of his cock between Sasuke’s thighs, the sweet friction of Itachi’s body as he moved on top of Sasuke, thrusting relentlessly.

It was too much. It wasn’t enough. Sasuke moaned, weakly, doing his best to tighten the channel formed by his thighs, and still it took a moment before Itachi groaned again, long and low, his cock twitching heavily as he came. Wet warmth began to drip down the inside of Sasuke’s thighs, dampening the sheets.

It seemed to take forever for Itachi to stop. He—Sasuke had thought, somehow, that Itachi would be the type to fall still as he came, but instead, he just seemed to want to thrust even harder, desperately chasing each last vestige of pleasure.

Sasuke didn’t remember if it had been like this when he was playing Sachiko. He knew it was unfair and unreasonable to keep focusing so hard on the slightest difference between this reality and the blatantly engineered connection Itachi had formed with Sachiko, but he simply couldn’t help it.

_Would he have let her suck him if she asked?_ he thought, bitterly, as Itachi finally came to a stop. Feeling Itachi’s slightly trembling hand come up to caress his cheek didn’t help, either, because Sasuke remembered the time he’d gone to Itachi’s house as Sachiko—the last time they’d been together—and the surprising, frightening tenderness Itachi had shown then.

“Everything alright?” Itachi said, his voice that faint, fond note that had used to annoy Sasuke to death because he wanted it to mean more than it obviously did. “Not too sore?”

“No, niisan,” Sasuke murmured. There was no point in ruining the night by spilling forth all his petty insecurities. “I’m a bit tired, but I’m fine.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm in the mood to jinx myself today, there's no problem with telling you guys the story's nearing its end rn. I don't know if I'll be able to wrap everything up in chapter 6, but unless anything changes, that's probably where it will end. Happy holidays []~(￣▽￣)~*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn't come as a complete surprise to Sasuke that Itachi showed up at his apartment the very next night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG it's the end TvT. This chapter took a long time to finish, and I guess because of that it's the longest one in the work. Hope you enjoy the read ♥

It didn’t come as a complete surprise to Sasuke that Itachi showed up at his apartment the very next night, or that Itachi kept doing so all through the new week. Sasuke’s research that Sunday had reaped enough results that he only felt a little guilty continuing to allow his brother the same filthy liberties as the days went by.

On Wednesday, Sasuke carved out an hour to go drinking with Ritsuko-chan, the hard-eyed, constantly smiling filing officer for his department, and the information he won from her reassured him enough that he didn’t feel the slightest hesitation offering himself fully up to Itachi that very evening.

(“…if anything, I’d say he’s calmed down in that respect, over the years,” Ritsuko had said, bluntly. “It’s not a bad way to deal with stress, properly managed, and with him, it’s always been that.”)

Sasuke had had to give her the impression that he was scouting the lay of the land prior to making a decision about whether to convalesce in Konoha for an additional couple months, but by the time he’d tracked her down, he’d fairly well convinced himself that it wasn’t all that far off from the truth. Internal wouldn’t need him for at least another month, and regardless of what happened with his pregnancy, it’d only be sensible to take a little more time off to recover from the extra strain his body was currently under.

“A month?” Itachi had said that night, his voice hoarse with excitement, his grip on Sasuke’s cock getting even tighter. “A whole month?”

“It isn’t… hn! I—I haven’t applied yet, but…”

“I’m sure you’ll get it,” was the low, encouraging answer. “It’s been years since you took this much time off, anyway.”

“Yes, so I’m… I think…”

“Hmm?” Itachi was only using his hands, one tight around Sasuke’s cock while the other caressed Sasuke’s hip, and yet, it was distracting enough that Sasuke could barely form words. “You think you’ll get it?”

“Y-yes.”

That, unsurprisingly, was the last coherent thing Sasuke managed to say that night.

* * *

The next night, Itachi spent a tortuous half hour on preparing Sasuke’s ass, smothering his needy cries and broken pleas to just fucking hurry up with hard, biting kisses and, when Sasuke could no longer control himself, a gentle, inexorable hand around his throat.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Itachi said, lowly, his voice tense, his fingers still working in and out of Sasuke’s hole. “But you need to be quiet, otouto. I can’t do this properly with you distracting me.”

The deliberately slow, cautious intrusion of Itachi’s cock soon afterwards was overwhelming. Sasuke had already known it would be so—he’d recently gained an acute understanding of how large his brother’s cock was, after all. But it had still been too much, a heavy, daunting weight inside him, one he couldn’t even try to squeeze down on to relieve the pressure, not without Itachi’s hand tightening around his throat.

“Relax,” Itachi had murmured, his breath hot and harsh and eager against the back of Sasuke’s neck. “You’ve always wanted this, right? You’re too tight. Relax for me, okay? Let me in.”

He’d sped up eventually, though not by enough to be really satisfying. He’d held Sasuke still under him, driving deep into Sasuke’s aching ass, grinding against Sasuke’s prostate with every other stroke.

By the end, Sasuke could no longer form words. He was just one stretched, greedy hole, his body trembling, begging for more with every weak backwards twitch of his hips. When Itachi finally finished inside him, the sheets beneath them were damp with a mix of Sasuke’s come and the juices from his dripping cunt.

“With this, I’m already out of clean sheets,” Sasuke had grumbled, afterwards. “I told you to let me lay down a towel. I _told_ you.”

“We can sleep at my house tonight, if it bothers you so much,” was Itachi’s murmured, not even slightly guilty response. “Yuri wouldn’t mind.”

“I would,” Sasuke had said, coolly, and that had been the end of that crazy idea. He still hadn’t got up the courage to sound her out about what was happening yet, half unwilling to endure the awkward conversation that would be necessary, and half convinced the conversation wouldn’t go well.

On the one hand, Sasuke desperately wanted to apologize to Yuri, not just for the obvious reasons, but also for how coldly he’d treated her when she and Itachi first got married. On the other hand, he really wanted to ask what on earth she had been thinking back then that it had seemed a good idea to tie herself to his brother all while knowing their relationship was and would always be a formality.

Hopefully, the boyfriend Itachi had mentioned she was with was someone she was seeing long term. If not, Sasuke couldn’t understand what she was getting from her relationship with Itachi, other than the exchange of being nagged to get married for being nagged about having kids and passing on the Sharingan.

“We’re friends,” Itachi said the next morning, when Sasuke asked, and all Sasuke could do was nod and say ‘ah’, as if he actually understood. Itachi had smiled down at him (unfair), ruffled his hair (annoying) and leaned in to kiss him (…), and that had been the end of Sasuke’s interest in inquiring into things.

On Friday, they refrained from… activities, as it was the night before Sasuke’s trip down to the hospital in Aishou. Which was disappointing but understandable, considering the fact that Sasuke would need to spend something like half a day hoofing it at close to civilian speeds just to get to the tram line that went between the West Gate’s staging area and Aishou.

Sasuke didn’t end up needing to brave the long walk, not because of the favour he’d planned to call in from Naruto, but because Itachi brazenly showed up on his apartment’s doorstep just before he left, smiling and acting as if they’d both planned for Itachi’s presence.

“You can’t keep—mmph—hgh, you can’t just keep accompanying me,” Sasuke snapped. He didn’t know when it’d started to feel normal to have his complaints interrupted by Itachi’s kisses. “You’re the clan head! You have—mmgh—hah, you have a responsibility to be available in the village if there’s—anything…”

“Do you want me to suck you off before we leave?” By then, Itachi had him pressed against the just-closed front door, and was groping him all over. “It won’t make us late, you know, since I’m carrying you down.”

“Nnh… I don’t…” Sasuke didn’t know whether he liked or hated how distracted Itachi could make him just by fondling his ass. “I want it, niisan, but we can’t—”

“Don’t tell me that,” was Itachi’s hoarse, eager answer. “Don’t tell me you want it like that, and then tell me we can’t.”

They ended up setting out almost two hours late. The usual, unwilling pilgrimage to Mother’s door before leaving the village on a brief trip was skipped, Itachi assuring him that Mother wouldn’t mind. “You think she didn’t notice how tired you were, last week? All I had to do was say you’d be seeing a specialist, otouto. If I hadn’t taken the day off to escort you, she would have made it a mission, for me or someone else.”

“That’s what I’m saying, niisan; any one of my friends could have done this,” Sasuke argued. “Naruto wanted to try this new noodle shop, he wouldn’t have minded—”

“Naruto was late,” Itachi said, and though his voice didn’t change, something about the tension in his grip on Sasuke’s thighs made it perfectly clear that he thought such lateness was unacceptable. “Jonin or no, he still drops things on occasion.”

Sasuke couldn’t help but wince on hearing that rigidly polite ‘on occasion’. Naruto had been by for dinner last night, half to co-ordinate today’s trip, and half because he had some sort of preternatural ability to figure out when Sasuke was splurging on meat for hot pot. He’d dropped his empty rice bowl on the way to the sink, and nearly shoved one or more of the vegetable bowls off the table while they were eating. “He wouldn’t have dropped me,” Sasuke muttered, though what he was really thinking was that if the foetus inside him was delicate enough to expire when he fell down wrong—which he _wouldn’t_, being a trained goddamn ninja—they wouldn’t be on the way to a hospital visit regarding it right now. “He doesn’t do that when it really matters.”

(When it didn’t matter, though, Naruto’s carelessness could really be something to behold. Everyone always assumed Sakura was the reason why Sasuke refused to buy anything other than metal plates and cups. They were wrong.)

“Even so, I’d prefer you didn’t take risks in your current condition,” was Itachi’s even answer. “You’re still all right?”

“_Yes_.” Sasuke fought down the urge to knock his head against the back of Itachi’s—distracting his brother in the midst of a run while clinging on his back would just be rude. “Stop asking me that.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not going to be like this the whole time, are you? Niisan, I’m just pregnant. If it wasn’t affecting my chakra, I’d be back on mission right now. I’m _fine_.” Then, as Sasuke spat out those last two words, he realized the implication in everything he’d just said, the assumption that he was going to carry on being pregnant, and all his brain processes froze.

“I hear you,” Itachi said, his tone more calm than anything you could call soothing, but still… “I’ll stop.”

_I don’t even know if I’ll keep it even if I find out I can,_ Sasuke wanted to say. But the words stayed behind the growing lump in his throat, because he knew himself, and he already knew the base, mercenary calculation he’d instinctively done somewhere at the back of his mind once it was clear Itachi wanted him.

_If I’m pregnant, I’ll have to scale back,_ said calculation went. He would need to spend more time in the village. He would spend more time with Itachi, just by default, just because Itachi rarely left Konoha’s surrounds these days. Better yet, Sasuke would have an excuse to stay, something weighty and important that no one could question. Caring for a new child was both important and complicated enough that most people rearranged their lives around it.

Guilt twisted at Sasuke as he thought of that, thought of what he was so casually signing up for in the name of being able to claim more of Itachi’s attention. It wouldn’t stop him from going through with it. It just weighed on him, an extra layer of heaviness settling into his body as he went on clinging to Itachi’s back, letting his brother carry him further toward the decision that would likely change both their lives.

_I’ll have to be good to them,_ Sasuke thought, his mind now full of hazy outlines, unclear imaginations of what his and Itachi’s child might look and act like. _I have to make sure they never worry about why they were born, even if things with niisan and I don’t end up working out._ That was the least his child was owed, if he was using them like this. If he was going to rely on the unquestionable excuse they provided him for hanging onto Itachi.

“All right back there?”

“Yes,” Sasuke murmured, tightening his careful hold on Itachi’s upper body. “I’m doing fine.”

The truth behind why precisely that wasn’t the usual half lie was something Sasuke was never, ever, _ever_ going to share.

* * *

“Congratulations,” Tsunade-sama said, her tone so utterly sarcastic that it was all Sasuke could do not to shrink back. “You’ve managed to inflict a condition on yourself that I’ve never seen before.”

“That’s a good thing,” Yakushi-san hastened to say. The way Itachi was looming behind Sasuke’s chair had made the whole checkup far more formal and stilted than Sasuke felt was at all warranted, and Yakushi-san seemed to be dealing with the additional, unspoken pressure in the room by being overly solicitous to both his sensei and Itachi. “It’s very rare, you see, that Tsunade-shishou encounters something new, especially so close to Konoha.”

Out in the impressively packed waiting room, Yakushi-san had referred to Konoha as ‘the village’, like most people native to Konoha did. Here, in front of his sensei, it became ‘Konoha’. Tense as Sasuke was, he couldn’t help but notice that smooth little adaptation, as well as the way Yakushi had positioned himself. As he’d escorted them into the exam room, he’d kept a neutral step ahead, and had offered Sasuke the support his arm (declined, since Sasuke had already been browbeaten into leaning on Itachi). Now, Yakushi was still in a neutral position, but it was one that kept him firmly between Itachi and Tsunade-sama, blocking off Itachi’s most direct angle of approach.

_Divided loyalties a concern, if not an outright certainty,_ Sasuke thought, unable to keep from making the automatic assessment. _Would strongly caution reliance on asset in any situation that runs counter to Senju Tsunade’s interests._

That Tsunade-sama didn’t seem all that happy with Yakushi-san’s… fretting was besides the point. She seemed annoyed, but only in a way that spoke of resignation, of her being used to putting up with her apprentice’s unnecessary protectiveness of her. “Explain how you think this happened,” she said, one hand gesturing vaguely at Sasuke’s stomach while the other remained attached to his outstretched arm, still reading his chakra. “Don’t leave anything out unless it’s classified, and don’t imagine for a moment that I’ll care if any of it is embarrassing; I assure you, Uchiha-san, that bizarre as your situation is, it’s not my first time hearing the shocking truth behind an unexpected pregnancy.”

Sasuke viciously suppressed a flinch. He saw the way Tsunade appeared not to notice his reaction, and had to count to ten internally to keep from reacting to _that_. “I have a lot of practice with full spectrum cross-gender transformations for professional reasons,” he made himself say. “In my personal time, I… engage with my partners as a woman sometimes. When I do that, my partners are usually men.” An understatement if there ever was one. “This time, I was—we saw each other about three times over the course of a month, and I didn’t revert in between sessions like I usually do.”

Tsunade pursed her lips, but nodded briskly, as if nothing he’d just said was remotely surprising. “When did you first suspect you were pregnant?”

“Two and a half months ago.” Sasuke couldn’t use chakra to control his flush right now, but worrying about it would only make it worse. All he could do was keep on talking, his tone as calm as he could make it. “It’s happened once before while I was on mission, and dealing with it was fairly simple then too, so I didn’t worry about eliminating the pregnancy right away.”

“It was a deliberate choice, then, to remain in a female form, and to maintain the pregnancy while still in that form?” This much, he could give Tsunade; she had the way of speaking without judgement down pat. The most clear emotion she was projecting now was mild professional interest, the kind of interest a gardener might show in hearing of a new but not well-proven planting method. When Sasuke nodded in response, she nodded as well, her chakra starting to make slow, careful rounds of his paths. “Would you mind giving a brief summary of how your first experience with pregnancy went?”

Somehow, though Sasuke had been expecting Itachi to stiffen when that thorny topic was dragged further into the light, the feeling of Itachi doing so was… distracting. “I was in female form for a mission, and unable to revert due to mission constraints during the time I was in place,” Sasuke said, tonelessly. “I was under very tight watch, and my cover identity wasn’t the sort of woman who would have been in favour of taking immediate action to eliminate an unwanted pregnancy. Due to the way the mission was concluded, I couldn’t shed the cover identity for three weeks following the end of the mission, and so I ended up obtaining and using the standard formula instead of waiting for the problem to fix itself on my reversion to my male form.”

“Ah,” Tsunade said, still in the same tone of mild interest. “And everything went well?”

“Yes.” Otsuka-san, his immediate contact for the mission, had been both horrified and panicked, and had strongly urged him to wait until they were back in Konoha before taking action. Sasuke had nodded along with the older man’s cautioning statements, then gone behind his back to borrow the right pill from the much more sympathetic Mika-chan, their local contact, who’d not known enough about Sasuke’s identity to be aware that there was anything to worry about.

Sasuke had had Sakura’s advice backing him, Sakura’s investigations and surmises about how ‘real’ the gender you presented while under _Oiroke_ actually was. But he’d been in a bad enough state that he’d probably have taken the pill regardless of whether he knew all that or not.

Part of what he had done to Itachi hadn’t been about Itachi at all. Sasuke had wanted to blunt the memory of what had been done to him, to overwrite those four or so weeks of knowledge, dread and disgust. Getting pregnant via Neji had been an option too, but it just wouldn’t have been as safe. Neji, after all, would have noticed that Sasuke wasn’t varying his form at all, and might even have been able to spot the pregnancy early on just by looking closely at Sasuke’s chakra.

“Did you pass any tissue, that time?”

“A little, yes. Less than I did this time, which was why I was so sure it was all right to try and revert.”

“Walk me through the timeline of that, if you would,” Tsunade said, her grip on his hand finally easing. An abortive gesture had Yakushi producing a clipboard for her from somewhere, one she accepted and immediately began scribbling on. “Oh, and an account of your chakra usage during the time you maintained this pregnancy.”

The rest of the visit passed in a blur, one of nerves and monotone answers and all sorts of questions. Sasuke listened as closely as he could to Tsunade’s short but precise list of things to watch out for during the rest of his first trimester. She’d also offered the chance to pursue another, much more careful attempt at a termination, but Sasuke merely shook his head at that.

Throughout it all, he was horribly aware of Itachi’s silent, tense presence. It wasn’t until Tsunade swept out of the room, trailed by an apologetic Yakushi-san, that Sasuke finally felt the fog of wordless anxiety that had gripped him for the last few moments begin to drain away.

“So,” Itachi said, his tone strangely careful, his hand a sudden, but satisfying weight on Sasuke’s right shoulder, “you’re decided?”

“I…” Sasuke blinked, hard, then forced certainty into his voice. “Yes.” Then added, after a swift, slightly strangled breath: “You’ll help me tell Mother?”

“Yes.” That simple acknowledgement came along with a brief squeeze of Sasuke’s shoulder, and then an even briefer caress of the back of Sasuke’s neck. “I’ll handle the clan as well.”

“The—fuck. The heirship.” It took everything Sasuke had to keep from cursing aloud at that moment. “Niisan, I didn’t think, I’m sorry, I’ll…”

“You don’t need to do anything,” Itachi said, coming around to stand in front of him, that warm, heavy hand still curled around the back of his neck. “You know Yuri and I have been planning for it to go to Jirou; all that will change is that the announcement will come forward a little.”

“But—”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Sasuke,” Itachi said, firmly. His hand moved, stroking gently through Sasuke’s hair. “All you need to do now is take care of yourself, and of our child.”

That last phrase was said in a low, calming tone, one that was likely meant to be reassuring. Sasuke didn’t know why hearing it made him flush. Perhaps it was the hand still in his hair. Perhaps it was the sudden, lurid spike of memory, the thought of just how the child—_their_ child—had been conceived. Perhaps it was Sasuke’s current hormonal imbalance, something Tsunade had bluntly told him might be a problem for the full duration of his pregnancy as both his chakra system and his current body adjusted to the changes that he would continue to experience.

“Sasuke?”

“I’m tired,” Sasuke lied, careful not to look up to meet his brother’s doubtless concerned gaze. He _was_ tired, from the run, from the two days they’d waited to be seen, from the tension he’d felt in the waiting room all this morning, and from the gruelling interview with Tsunade-sama. But he was also a bit… “Can I stay the night instead of running back? For tomorrow, you can just tell Naruto to swing by and pick me up.”

“I assumed we’d be staying one or two more nights here, otouto,” was the low, slightly amused answer. “You _are_ pregnant, after all, and it’s not as if you aren’t on leave; even though you’re in decent enough health for your situation, there’s nothing so pressing that would mean us needing to head back to the village immediately.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to eat first, before we find a hotel? There’s this barbecue place I know in the market square that’s pretty good…”

* * *

That night, they naturally ended up fucking again. _Light exercise is actually beneficial for you at this stage,_ Tsunade had said. _Just bear in mind that when I say light, I really do mean light, and of course anything chakra intensive is off the table until your system settles down._

Sasuke, already tired from the appointment, had been falling asleep on his feet after they ate, and had drifted off curled up in the bed of their hotel room moments after exiting the restaurant. Waking to the slow stroke of Itachi’s hand over his stomach startled him, though not enough that he flinched away from his brother’s touch.

“What?” Sasuke found himself muttering. That Itachi’s chest was bare didn’t surprise him; he’d known well before any of this happened that Itachi was a furnace when he slept. That Sasuke himself was only in a t-shirt and boxers was a bit of a shock, since he knew very well that he’d dozed off clothed. “Is there something? Do we need to go back early?”

“No,” Itachi said, his voice a comforting rumble Sasuke felt as much as heard; he’d lain down right behind Sasuke at some point, his bare chest a wall of warmth against Sasuke’s back. “Nothing like that.” His hand stroked up and down again, his fingers trailing the slight curve of Sasuke’s stomach. “Can we?”

“Can we what?” Sasuke mumbled, only to stiffen when his brother’s hand stroked a lot further down than it’d been doing thus far. “Uh… right.”

There was something really wrong about the fact that Sasuke went from half-hard to aching in just two firm strokes. That he didn’t even need the extra stimulus of Itachi pressing against him from behind, though of course he savoured it, breathing in sharply when he felt the thick, hard outline of Itachi’s cock sliding against him.

It took only another breath for Sasuke to realize what it meant that he could feel Itachi’s cock leaking precome all over his inner thighs when he parted them for better access. He swallowed thickly, his sudden arousal rising another notch; the thought of Itachi getting naked and climbing into bed to masturbate beside him while he slept made Sasuke’s mouth water.

“So?” Itachi murmured. “Can we?”

Sasuke flushed, but he didn’t let that stop him from nodding, or from eagerly spreading his legs as Itachi slowly inched on top of him. He shivered as his boxers were peeled off. He moaned when Itachi took him in hand, then writhed in protest when he realized Itachi wasn’t going to vary the slow, methodical pace of the hand on him, or even so much as allow either hand to graze against the lips of Sasuke’s aching cunt.

“Please,” Sasuke said over and over again. “Please, niisan. I can’t—I need more. I won’t, you can’t just keep…”

“You’re not wet enough yet,” Itachi said, a scolding tone in his slightly breathless voice. “Endure it.”

“Why?” It was difficult not to whine that. Sasuke’s cock was leaking now too, enough that Itachi could probably speed up with ease, and yet Itachi just _wouldn’t_. The hand that wasn’t curled tight (but not tight enough, never enough) around Sasuke’s cock kept Sasuke pinned down against the bed by his right hip. “Niisan—”

“Ssh. You’ll like it.”

“I want to like it _now_,” Sasuke snarled, unable to help himself. “This is—what, you won’t even let me touch myself?”

Itachi said nothing, but the hand he’d used to capture Sasuke’s flailing wrist was answer enough. Now, he was pinning Sasuke to the bed with just careful, pointed shifts of his weight, all while that cursed hand took hold of both of Sasuke’s. That Itachi kept pausing to suck on Sasuke’s stiff nipples through the thin, increasingly damp cloth of Sasuke’s t-shirt didn’t help. “A little longer,” he kept saying, his breath hot against Sasuke’s ear, or Sasuke’s chest. “Endure it a bit.”

By now, his strokes of Sasuke’s aching cock weren’t really steady anymore. Every time Sasuke began to feel close, every time Sasuke’s cock gave a heavy twitch, Itachi stopped stroking entirely. It was torture. It was horrible. It was the best thing Sasuke had ever felt, and the worst.

Minutes blurred. Sasuke kept begging, or tried to; his garbled words kept changing into frustrated moans and groans. He rocked up into Itachi’s fickle, treacherous grip, trying, trying, trying. He felt so empty and desperate and ashamed, ashamed that this kind of treatment was what he only deserved, and yet he couldn’t even begin to bear it. He’d been begging all this time like a whore, pleading then demanding then crying out to be fucked, and yet Itachi still—still—

“Niisan,” he heard himself whine, that word barely intelligible. “I need it. It’s so empty.” He’d need preparation to take Itachi’s massive length in his ass, but he was so desperate to come right now that if Itachi put it in dry, he’d take it, he’d be grateful for it. “Niisan… _ah_!”

One finger sliding up into his aching, too-tight cunt was all the stimulus he needed. Just feeling it made Sasuke’s eyes roll back in his head. His orgasm was still wracking him when he felt another finger force its way in, and another, and another. It hurt, and it felt good enough to die from, and it wasn’t stopping—“Ngh! Ahh—harder, harder!”

Four fingers. Sasuke squeezed down around them, trembling from the aftershock of yet another orgasm, and the way they curled and pressed inside him only made him want more. The front hem of his shirt was sticking to him, damp and just this side of unpleasant against the head of his cock. Why was he still hard? Why was he suffering there, when his cunt was spread wide and slick and trembling around Itachi’s fingers?

“Alright,” Itachi said, shakily. “Just a moment, otouto. Relax, okay? Relax for me.” His fingers all slipped out of Sasuke’s cunt, but his hand didn’t move away even as he shifted his weight, getting himself ready. Sasuke only realized his brother had a tight grip on the base of his cock at that moment, tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that it’d been aching before, just a little, an ache that had blended in with everything else. “Relax. I’m going to put it in.”

Sasuke didn’t need to be told which hole Itachi’s massive cock was being aimed at. He could feel it already, feel the slick head pressing against his equally slick cunt lips, parting them gently. He didn’t relax. He couldn’t. He could barely take in that first inch.

Or so he thought.

Slowly, Itachi worked his way in. Slow, sweet thrusts opened Sasuke up; Itachi’s hips never quite met his own, and there were no words for how full he felt, how wet, how stretched, how needy.

“I can’t believe you,” Itachi said, his voice half groan, his tone low and tight. Greedy. “Letting me, like this.” One of his hands moved over Sasuke’s left hip, shifting around and underneath to grope Sasuke’s ass. “Aren’t you worried you’ll tear?”

“You…” Sasuke blushed at how thin and breathy his voice was, but he forced himself to keep on anyway. “You got me ready.”

Silence settled between them, a heated one interrupted by gasps and a steady, filthy squelching. Sasuke bit his lip bloody to keep from crying out, and though his eyes were open, he couldn’t seem to see anything clearly. He only knew he was crying from the intensity when Itachi bent in to lick at his tears, all while forcing his thighs wide apart, wide enough that there was no way to miss what was happening between them.

Sasuke blinked hard. The sight was frighteningly satisfying, soothing some primal part of him that he hadn’t even known was aching for this. His own erection seemed shockingly small in comparison to the one stretching his cunt. His cock was flushed an angry, obscene pink, and pale beads of precome drooled from the head, dripping onto his groin and belly. Then Itachi’s hand came down and closed around his cock again, and Sasuke could no longer do anything but feel.

“You can’t just keep…” Itachi’s voice was raw, his tone strangely angry. “You can’t trust me, otouto. You don’t know what I was going to do to you.” Then, when Sasuke made a breathless sound of protest: “Today, if you hadn’t…” He bent in low, bringing his mouth to Sasuke’s ear. “How long do you think it would have taken me to get you pregnant again?”

Hearing that, Sasuke couldn’t help but flinch, and not for any kind of sensible reason. Raw, disgustingly strong satisfaction swept through him. His cunt clamped down on Itachi’s cock, milking it, spasming over and over again. _He wants me,_ Sasuke thought, feeling dazed. _Saying such a thing, doesn’t that mean he really wants me?_

“Do it,” Sasuke found himself crying out. “Make me… keep me…” He never managed to finish, his voice wavering out of control as another orgasm wrung him dry, his cock emptying in thin, pressurized sprays. Seeing his come splash up onto Itachi’s chest made him writhe in guilty pleasure. “’M yours, niisan,” he breathed. “Anything. I’ll—hngh—anything…”

Itachi answered that declaration with a low, greedy groan and increasingly hard thrusts. Just as Sasuke was beginning to worry the next thrust would really hurt, he felt his brother pull all the way out. “Open up,” was all that was demanded, before Itachi shifted up and up and up again, cramming his open, panting mouth with cock.

It was… Sasuke swallowed and coughed and choked and sucked for all he was worth. It was too much. Itachi’s hands were shaking, their grip in Sasuke’s hair unsteady. Itachi’s cock tasted like cunt. It took only three good, deep thrusts into Sasuke’s mouth for Itachi to start spilling within, pouring come down Sasuke’s eager throat.

When Itachi tried to pull back, Sasuke tightened the arm around his brother’s waist. He blinked away tears as he licked Itachi’s cock clean, savouring the fact that he was allowed to, that Itachi’s hand was stroking his hair, that that touch wasn’t something he had to conceal his enjoyment of. It was just something he could _have_, now, and that stunned him.

Later, when they were mostly clean and curled up together beneath the blanket, Sasuke couldn’t help but blurt out a question that had been bothering him. “Why haven’t you let me suck you off properly yet?”

Immediately, he wished he hadn’t said anything, half because it was such a dirty, dumb, _base_ question, the kind that only a greedy whore with nothing else on their mind would ask. The rest of Sasuke’s chagrin came from the obvious shock he saw sweep across Itachi’s face, shock followed by a brief, intense survey from Itachi’s suddenly active gaze.

“Is that the only thing you can think of?” was Itachi’s low hoarse answer. “If I want to use this mouth of yours the way I like it most, do you really think you can take it?”

Sasuke, entranced by the feeling of his brother’s gaze looking at him and only him, somehow managed a slow, eager nod.

“Well,” Itachi murmured, his fingers stroking lightly down the front of Sasuke’s throat. “You better not regret it.”

* * *

Sasuke did not regret anything. There were times when he swore under his breath at the never-ending travails of pregnancy and parenthood—what was there to do other than give vent to inaudible curses when your child came home sick for the fifteenth time three months into the new year? But overall, he was happy.

Quitting Internal Security had been a much more involved process than he’d expected. Weathering Mother’s smothering concern had been even worse, once she’d got over being furious at supposedly being the last to be told about Sasuke’s embarrassing yet happy news.

(In reality, Naruto had been the last of Sasuke’s friends and family to know, and he’d made even more of a fuss over it in his own roundabout way, by sleeping his way through something like half the force. How he’d managed to get out of either impregnating anyone or being forced to propose by the parents of particularly traditional partners would remain a mystery.)

Sasuke, initially quite firm about maintaining his own apartment as a space that didn’t impinge on Itachi and Yuri’s comfortable shared house, caved during the last two months of his pregnancy. He never quite managed to muster the energy to move out of their home afterwards, though he _knew_ the kind of gossip that went around, gossip that painted the three of them as being enmeshed in some sort of tragic love triangle.

In reality, they were room-mates and parents first, and everything else afterwards, and by the time they had a five-month-old daughter to worry about, Sasuke had long been used to the stilted, yet courteous dance they all did to avoid stepping on each others’ toes. He and Itachi used the master bedroom most days, but would surrender it for weeks on end whenever Yuri’s boyfriend, Takehiko, was back in the village. They all tried to eat dinner together twice a week, once at their house, and the second time at Mother’s. Whenever they argued over anything from chores to something as minor as the daily menu, Yuri would make a dramatic production of siding with Itachi, then smirk at Sasuke while his brother tried to coax him out of his inevitable sulk.

Many of Sasuke’s worries were in vain. Itachi didn’t get tired of him. Their daughter, Mori, though a couple weeks premature, turned out to be almost disgustingly healthy, with the only caveat being that it’d be safest for her to marry out of the clan whenever that became an issue. Mother never pressed for very long about the mystery of Mori’s father, and with her almost tight-lipped example and Itachi and Yuri’s smiling, pointed calm, no one else in the clan dared to publicly bring it up.

The one thing Sasuke didn’t expect would result from the entire affair was the slow but marked increase in some men making the foolhardy choice to _Oiroke_ their way into pregnancy. It became one of Yakushi-san’s grudging specialities, something he never failed to blame Sasuke for whenever he had a chance, which was often, since he’d inexplicably decided he needed direct experience of the procedure to refine his treatment practices.

(The fact that Shisui constantly complained about being with someone that thought nothing of extreme bodily modification and yet wouldn’t turn that same someone down when they came by to propose marriage and demand his seed in the same breath was somehow not at all surprising.)

“How the hell is that my fault?” Sasuke couldn’t keep from saying, after the blotchy, ranting Yakushi had been carted off by Sakura, Ino and Shisui for a much-needed walk in the garden. “I can’t believe he’s really trying to sell me that bullshit about the need for personal experience, like the real thing you need to be a good med-nin is to injure yourself over and over on purpose to better practice treating wounds.”

“Quite,” Itachi murmured. “And it’s hardly as if he’s got no choice but to specialize in this sort of thing.”

“Yes! Exactly, right?”

“And he did choose to be pregnant,” Itachi continued, in a smooth, nearly innocent tone Sasuke didn’t trust at all. “It’s quite difficult to get pregnant by accident, as a man.”

“…yes.” Sasuke somehow managed to keep meeting his brother’s fond, gloating gaze, though it meant having to slow down while he cleared the table in order to prevent dropping anything and making his guilty agitation even more obvious. “Exactly.” Why, oh, why was he _still_ this way about what he’d done, years after the maddened decision to make Itachi his own in that one particular way? “Niisan, can we not—”

“I want to try it again,” Itachi said, calmly, the heat in his gaze as shocking as it always was when he felt it safe to flirt like this, his words vague, his tone filthily direct. “What do you think? Mori’s at the Lees’, tonight, so…”

_So that’s why he caved when she begged to sleep over,_ Sasuke grumbled to himself. _I should have known._ Somehow, his ever-blazing ire at how terribly prone Itachi was to spoiling the living daylights out of Mori was not nearly as fierce as usual. “Maybe,” he found himself muttering, even though he knew that doing so just meant that he’d lost the high ground. Whatever high ground existed in this, that was. “Not until after dessert.”

“Of course not,” Itachi agreed, readily. He still stole a moment, when they’d just pulled the last tray of egg tarts out of the fridge, pressing Sasuke in against the chill of the open door and kissing him hard. “Can you make them big this time?” Itachi murmured, when they stopped to catch their breath. It was perfectly clear what he meant by ‘them’; his hand had somehow found its way up Sasuke’s shirt while they kissed, and was currently rubbing a brazen circle over Sasuke’s chest. “As big as they were, when…?”

Sasuke flushed. “Don’t push your luck,” he snapped, prying loose that wandering hand. “You should be grateful that I’ll—that I’ll still—”

“I know,” was Itachi’s low, amused response. “I know very well how lucky I am to have you.” Heartfelt as those words were, the wicked cast to his gaze made it clear Itachi also knew how unfair it was of him to say something so sweet so straightforwardly. “Okay, fine, I’ll stop for now. Happy?”

Sasuke, still flushed all over, decided to snatch up a tray of tarts and make his escape rather than dignify that with a response.

(Sometimes, these days, he thought he was a little _too_ happy.)

(That didn’t mean he was giving any of it up.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a wild ride, right? Hopefully you enjoyed it as much as I did. Let me know what you think ♥ ♥ ♥

**Author's Note:**

> No idea how long this is going to end up being


End file.
